


Hooke's Law

by GirlFromTheRing



Series: Force (N) [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arsonists, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Hackers, Arson, Assassination, Established Relationship, Feels and shit, Hacking, Illegal Activities, It's much more domestic than it seems, Lowkey soft uwu, M/M, Multi, Plot, Some angst, Swearing, like a lot, like lowkey, they're whipped for each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 06:56:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17893664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlFromTheRing/pseuds/GirlFromTheRing
Summary: Xiaojun, Hendery, and Yangyang as a crime trio. There's chaos.





	1. 1N

**Author's Note:**

> Hello ao3 I am back and I love WayV,, additional tags to be added I don't know where this is going either.

Dejun woke up to Yangyang’s incessant typing and Kunhang’s cold hands all over his chest. He lifted his head enough to glare at Yangyang through the layers of blankets that covered the three of them, and Yangyang nodded in acknowledgement before quickly concluding his work with a sharp ‘enter’. 

He closed the laptop and set it aside before wrapping himself around Dejun like he had when they had fallen asleep. Dejun gave a hum of contentment before drifting back into his slumber. Yangyang watched, as his head unconsciously tilted towards him, and his body instinctively curled into himself. Dejun slept like a cat, hiding his face and drawing up his knees. One of Kunhang’s hands reached out to him, over Dejun’s side, and Yangyang held it, shifting himself further towards Dejun’s form to be closer to Kunhang.

He felt Kunhang’s smile. He liked this, the early mornings with just the three of them in their own world. He could wake up to both of his boyfriends and their morning kisses and fall asleep to their voices. They’d have breakfast in bed occasionally, and Kunhang would whine about the crumbs in the bed but he’d join them regardless. Dejun would be strong enough to leave his boyfriends’ cuddles to make breakfast for the three of them; while Yangyang would try to salvage enough sleep to deal with rest of the day. It was familiar, it was comfortable. 

Today is not one of those mornings. 

When Yangyang woke for the second time, Dejun’s hair was in his mouth and Kunhang had managed to push himself off the bed, dragging half the blanket with him. It was normal, he was used to it.

But the strange beeping noise in their room was not normal. It startled Dejun, who kicked Kunhang in the face, effectively waking him up. 

“What, Dejun? I don’t like to be woken up to feet, you-”

“Shut up,” Yangyang sat up, scanning the room for any foreign body. “What’s that sound?”

“A bomb? I don’t know,” Dejun so helpfully supplied, as in fact, it was indeed a bomb. 

“Fuck, it’s too early for this shit. Kunhang, set it on fire or something. I’m going to sleep.” Yangyang settled himself into his sheets and pulled Dejun down too, who shrugged before cuddling Yangyang. Kunhang sighed. 

He stood up and stretched, taking his own sweet time to investigate. The bomb was very obviously placed on their bookshelf. The intruder probably came in through the window - which was carelessly left open, they should have the decency to close it - and left the bomb in the most convenient place. Amateur. Kunhang pulled apart a few wires, almost set it off, then successfully disabled it. 

“Problem solved,” He threw the useless metal into the dustbin in the room on his way out. “I’m making breakfast.”

\---

The kitchen was on fire, Kunhang noticed, as one would. Luckily, he was experienced in such events, so he extinguished the fire before it spread too far, or disturbed his boyfriends’ sleep. 

“What fool sets fire to an arsonist’s apartment?” He said to himself, as he disposed of the blanket he always kept in the kitchen. He wasn’t a idiot, he knew how to take precautions. Unlike the the utter beginner who broke into their apartment, switched the stove on, left a few towels to spread the fire, and left. Pathetic; they didn’t even drench the towels in oil. 

Kunhang started on breakfast. Eggs for Dejun, beans and toast for Yangyang, and cereal for him, (which Yangyang would invariably leech off of, he loves eating Kunhang’s food) and a plate of cat food for the stray that stops by every now and then. 

He set the table and proceeded to call for Dejun and Yangyang, who stumbled out of their room like a pair of disappointed college students that lost a bet and now needed to drink water from the fish tank. True story. 

“What’s today’s agenda?” Dejun asked in his deep voice that was deeper in the mornings. Yangyang sat atop the breakfast bar, first taking a bite of his toast then of Kunhang’s cereal.

“We finished yesterday’s job early, so we get today off.” Yangyang replied, getting off the bar and walking towards the fridge. “What happened to the stove?”

“Yeah, that,” Kunhang dismissively waved in the general direction of the stove. “Same dude who planted the bomb set the kitchen on fire.”

“They reach impressive lengths of failure every time.” 

Dejun toasted to that with his three shots of espresso. 

“So, nothing today?” He asked. Yangyang shrugged and walked back to sit on the bar again. 

“Impossible. You know boss, he’ll send us some trivial shit like digging up a grave.” Kunhang responded as he swatted Yangyang’s spoon away from his bowl. Yangyang pouted. 

“True. Kunnie,” Dejun pulled the fork out of his mouth and used it to point at Kunhang. “We need to go grocery shopping.” 

“There’s no orange juice. My life is falling apart.” Yangyang added. 

Kunhang rolled his eyes. “Just run down to the store and get it, before boss calls.”

Boss seems to have impeccable timing, because as soon as Yangyang left, the phone - which was dangerously balanced on the already crowded coffee table, just tipping off the edge - announced its forgettable presence.

“Why do we still have that? He usually calls on Yangyang’s.” 

“This is your apartment too, Dejun. You tell me.” 

Dejun hummed, walking towards the desperately ringing telephone, which was so close to falling off with every vibration. 

“Boss! It’s your main hoe, Xiao Dejun, reporting for duty.” 

The static cracked as Kun coughed. “My - sorry what now?”

“Main hoe.” Dejun flopped down onto the sofa, stretching the cord of the phone to its maximum potential. Which was not much to begin with. “What’s good, Boss? Got some work for us?”

“Um, yes. I need you to dig up a grave.” 

“Called it,” Kunhang said from the kitchen, making finger guns at Dejun.

“Yes, we figured. Who is it this time?”

“Moon Taeil’s brother-in-law.” 

Dejun frowned. “Doesn’t he hate him?”

“Exactly.”

“Y’all in kahoots now? Was the sex that good?”

“Dejun!” Kun shushed him from the other line.

“Main hoe, I told you. So what’s the dirt on him?”

Kunhang laughed.

“Well, he was emotionally abusing Taeil’s sister, so Taeil dealt with him. But this time, well, it’s not really my place to say.”

“Got it, boss. Address? And by when?”

“I’ll text Yangyang. This afternoon? 1400 hours.”

“Done. Also, someone planted a bomb in our apartment.” 

“The kitchen was on fire, too,” Kunhang added.

“What? That’s why you’re awake so early.” 

“Don’t flex on me just because I wake up at eleven. And yes, a very beginner job. Kunnie fixed it.”

“I mean, they did set fire to an arsonist’s apartment. Fools,” Kun sighed. “I’ll look into it.”

“Thanks, boss. Don’t forget to drink water.”

“I don’t, Dejun. Call me once you’re done.”

“Okay, love you!”

The line went dead.

“He hung up on me.” 

“Classic boss.” Kunhang said, while stacking up dishes in the sink. “Come help me out.”

“Of course, babe.” Dejun made his way to the kitchen, then left a kiss on Kunhang’s temple before wrapping his arms around him from behind. 

“Not helping,” He said, and Dejun hummed into his neck, leaving a kiss there, too. He left a trail of kisses up til his ear, then gently bit it.

“Dejun,” Kunhang shuddered due to the proximity, smiling to himself. “You’re really not helping.”

“I know,” Dejun rested his chin on Kunhang’s collarbone. “You act so soft in the mornings. I love it.” 

“You’re always soft,” Kunhang stopped the water to turn his head to face Dejun, who looked up expectantly at him. “And I love it.”

He leaned forward to press a kiss on Dejun’s forehead, but Dejun stood on his toes to kiss Kunhang on the lips instead. He smiled into the kiss, abandoning the dishes to hold Dejun, who pushed him back against the counter.

Dejun’s lips moved against Kunhang’s as Kunhang pulled him closer by his t-shirt. Dejun’s hands were in his hair and he pulled, enough for Kunhang to kiss him harder. He tasted like coffee and sugar, like he did every morning, and Dejun loved it, too. He loved when Kunhang would lift him up after he’d wrap his legs around his waist and place him on a counter and stand between his legs and kiss him like his life depended on it. He loved it when Kunhang would wake him and Yangyang up with kisses and tea for him, coffee for Yangyang. He loved it when Kunhang would kiss down his neck and leave marks on his collarbones and won’t stop until Dejun forgot everything except Kunhang’s name on his lips. 

Which he did right now, as Kunhang’s cold, wet fingers left feather-light touches across his back, teasing him. His lips were glued to his neck as Dejun’s hands still tried to pull him closer, like they weren’t already close enough. 

“Guys,” 

Kunhang stopped and sheepishly smiled up at Dejun before resting his head on his collarbone. Dejun laughed, wrapping his arms and legs around Kunhang and motioning for Yangyang to join them instead of standing awkwardly in the doorway. He did. 

“So I got the juice, but at what cost?” He started, as he sat beside Dejun on the counter. Dejun moved one arm from Kunhang to wrap around him. 

“What does that mean? Was it over priced or something?” Kunhang asked while turning his head to look at Yangyang.

“No, I almost got shot at,”

“What the hell-”

“I didn’t really get shot at, just the red laser thing pointed at me.” 

“That’s not any better, are you-”

“Get down. Like, right now.” Dejun’s voice was calm, but both of them could tell it was shaking, like the red spot on his chest. It wavered, then settled at his heart. Kunhang nodded at Yangyang, and they pulled Dejun to the floor, behind the counter, as the gun fired. It missed Dejun, but almost shot the poster on the wall.

“Fuck, they tried to shoot my Taemin.” Yangyang said, a bit pissed off but not really. The glass was protecting them. “Actually, fuck that, they shot my Dejun. I’m going to kill them.”

“They didn’t shoot me,” Dejun argued.

“They tried to, hence we can try to kill them.” Kunhang argued back, lifting his head to check if they were safe. They weren’t.

“This asshole. Who tries to assassinate an assassin?” Dejun muttered as the shooter kept shooting at their apartment. “This guy really is an idiot, huh? My counters are made of bulletproof steel, come at me, bro.”

“Shut up and sit down, Dejun. Wait for them to tire themselves out. It’s not like they can get through the windows.” Yangyang was right, as the attempts to fire bullets at the three were pathetic, ricocheting off the layers of toughened glass like crows repeatedly banging into windows.

“Some cheap bullets this one uses. Call Kun, he’ll know what to do.” Kunhang lifted his head again. Dejun pulled him down.

“We know where they are, why don’t we do it ourselves?” He replied, opening the lowest drawer of the counter to pull out a rifle.

“I don’t see the issue with that,” Yangyang agreed. “We’ll have to get to the balcony, though, we can’t afford to shoot at the glass.”

“I can’t stop you, can I?” Kunhang sighed, then shifted to retrieve the remaining rifles. “You take one too, Yang. We can manage, probably better than this guy.” The haphazardly shot bullets fell to the garden of their complex, useless and unimpactful, verifying Kunhang’s words.

On Dejun’s count, they sprinted across the room into their bedroom, then crouched themselves under the open window. Dejun aimed at the shooter, assuming their position from the angle they shot at, and pulled the trigger. 

Silence. Dejun breathed a sigh of relief. Glass shattered overhead.

Kun was going to kill them.


	2. 2N

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grave digging, holding up traffic, and cats.

After Kunhang deemed it safe enough, Yangyang cleaned the shards of glass while Dejun spoke to Kun. The shooter had been shot, according to Dejun’s instincts - some sixth sense nonsense, Yangyang concluded, must be his superstitious ancestor’s influence - and they were to continue with their assignment. 

Kun ended the call with “Just stay safe, okay? You’re more than capable of that.” before leaving them in an uncomfortable silence. Sometimes it felt more like a family to Yangyang. Kun is their superior and leader, but the way he spoke to them made him feel more than just a disciple. He felt more important, more, wanted. They were just three boys who were looking for purpose at the end of the day, and Kun had so willingly given it to them. 

If they were a casual friend group, Kun would be the mom friend. 

Yangyang smiled to himself. They’d get through it, together. Whatever it was. 

“I’m going to shower, then we can, take down this...dead guy. Yeah,” Kunhang left, to presumably, shower. Which left Yangyang alone with Dejun, who had been staring into space since the phone call, completely zoned out. 

“Yo, Jun.” Dejun looked up at the nickname, mouth still partly open from his absent mindedness. “You good?”

“I… um, yeah.” Dejun pressed his lips into a line and nodded. “Yeah, good. You? Not too shaken up?”

“Not my first shoot out. I’m fine.” He shrugged. “What’s bothering you?”

“How can you tell?”

“I live with you. I know when something’s up.”

Dejun sighed, walking towards the bed. He sat down, then fell back against the pillows.

“Bad memories. People dying, people I didn’t know very well but they didn’t deserve to die. Not something I like thinking about.”

“It happens, Dejun.” Yangyang crawled next to Dejun, fitting himself against him, like he did in the morning. He knew what made the other feel better, he’d be damned if he didn’t after almost three years. “You can’t help it.”

“I know. It just really upsets me sometimes.”

“I guess you shouldn’t have become an assassin then,” Yangyang felt Dejun’s laugh reverberate through his chest. 

“No, I like what I do. Those people really do deserve to die, and yes, who are we to judge that, but I’d say Kun is a great person to.”

“Agreed. He’s basically god,” Dejun laughed again. 

“He really is,” He said, smiling. Yangyang watched his eyes focus on the the broken window, as a stray cat jumped into their apartment, uninvited. They didn't get up. Yangyang traced circles on Dejun’s stomach, making him laugh. Touch always grounded Dejun (and Kunhang, to some extent) according to Yangyang, but it never worked for him.

“What’s been bothering you?” Dejun asked, turning to his side.

“Nothing, why?” 

“Your fingers stopped.” He hadn’t realised. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Yangyang moved to touch Dejun again, but Dejun held his hand and pulled him forward until he was close enough to kiss. He did, chastely first, then with more fervour. Yangyang responded, equally enthusiastic, pushing Dejun to his back. His fingers roamed the warm expanse of Dejun’s chest, making him feel much lighter than before. 

He was suspended in space, free floating with the stars, and Yangyang’s touch was grounding him, if not making him feel higher. 

Yangyang pulled back, and Dejun chased his lips. “You’ll have to wait,” Yangyang said, placing a finger on Dejun’s lips. He raised a single eyebrow (Dejun still didn’t know how he managed that, what the fuck), asking Dejun to challenge him. He didn’t. 

“Tease.”

“You know you like it,” Yangyang stood up to investigate the crashing noises from the kitchen, which they had so easily ignored earlier, being a little occupied. 

Dejun fell back against the mattress for the third time in the span of three hours. He wondered why Yangyang wouldn’t talk to him. 

\---

Freshly showered and sleep deprived, the three left for the graveyard. 

“Bedroom window will be replaced tomorrow, some company guy will drop by around eleven. Boss says he’s covered for us. Sounded pissed though.”

“I would be too, if my gun unnecessarily broke an expensive window.” Yangyang replied to an unappreciative Dejun. “At least the guy’s dead.”

“Yeah, who was it?” Kunhang asked. He took a sharp left and almost drove them into a wall. 

“Some dude from a rival branch.” Dejun shrugged in response, like their lives weren’t in imminent danger. “Korean,” He added.

“Interesting. They don’t usually mess with us.” Kunhang took another sharp turn, making Dejun grab the steering wheel to steady them.

“If they don’t kill us, you will.” Yangyang so necessarily commented from the backseat.

“Shut up, you try learning how to drive.” 

“I have a license.”

They were silent for rest of the journey. 

“This does not look like graveyard,” Kunhang, with some (a lot of) difficulty and some (a lot of) swearing, managed to parallel park opposite the so-called graveyard that resembled an abandoned swimming complex. A dried out, tileless pool greeted them. There were locks on the changing rooms, dust-covered and worn out, much like rest of the area. Stands that were probably used fifteen years back crumbled and left debris on the ground, littering the once polished floor. If the complex was a person, it would be buried. 

“So where is the body?”

“There,” Kunhang answered Yangyang, pointing at a big, red cross at the centre of the pool. “I’m assuming.”

“Plausible.” 

“Let’s get to work then,” Dejun passed them the two shovels he had packed into the trunk of the car. “It’s already twelve.”

\---

They found the body, stuck in between pipes that ran below the pool.

“I see Taeil has been,” Dejun started, observing the dried up blood where the body’s eyes should have been. “A bit brutal.” 

Yangyang nodded. There wasn’t much of a body, a leg and an arm were missing, and there were a few grave slashes across the chest. Dried up blood coated majority of the figure, a hint into what Taeil thought of the man, considering he hated blood.

“Let’s get this to Kun, then. Dejun,” Dejun looked up from the mess of a corpse, “Body bag?” Yangyang asked. 

“Here.”

\---

The black bag rattled with every speed breaker the car encountered. Kun had asked them to drop it off at a pickup location, in the busier side of town, which meant inevitable traffic. Yangyang proposed car games to pass the time, and was immediately shot down by Dejun and Kunhang. 

“I spy, with my-”

“Shut the fuck up, thank you.”

“-with my medium sized eye, something very angry.”

“Please refrain from objectifying your boyfriend, Yang.” Kunhang cut in, overtaking a car in another lane, only to get stuck again. Yangyang pouted like he had been deprived from kisses - he never is - Kunhang just thinks he’s being dramatic for no plausible reason. Dejun, of course, gives in. Because Dejun is weak and well, so is Kunhang. But only for his boyfriends.

Yangyang smiles while they take turns kissing him, ignoring the onset of traffic and the seatbelts digging into their skin when they turn to face him. He turns his head, making both of them chase after his lips, and Kunhang held his face to kiss him properly. Kisses with Kunhang were always intense, he never just pecked their lips, he meant something with every kiss. Like now, he wanted Yangyang to stay fucking still. They’re interrupted by several honks by middle-aged working class people who just want to get to their favourite breakfast joint for lunch and be back in the office on time, goddamnit. 

“Fuck, that was not very nice of us,” Kunhang said, once they drove ahead and calmed the mob of impatient adults behind. “Yangyang. No kissing in the car.” 

“Watch him break his own rules,” Dejun nodded at Yangyang, agreeing. Kunhang rolled his eyes. 

Dejun watched the trees blur into a green blob after they passed the traffic and drove onto a less popular stretch of road. Yangyang once told him there’s beauty in simplicity - when he was going through his minimalist phase, but whatever - and now he could help but agree more, the evenly-spaced symmetrical trees giving him some kind of satisfaction. 

Yangyang was right about a lot of things, people just didn’t take him seriously because of his dreams. He aimed to high, then fell too deep. He wanted something, worked for something, only to be shot down in a matter of seconds, and Dejun remembers it all too clearly. He hasn’t been the same around others - barring Dejun, Kunhang, and Kun - less confident, more cynical. It hurt to see him change, but he worked on that, too, leaving little notes of motivation for himself around the house or taking trips to outside the city to just think (he never let Kunhang or Dejun help, it was his way, he’d told them, of getting better.) 

Dejun saw it coming back. The insecurity, the fear. But he didn’t ask, not yet, not out of their safe sanctuary and in the open. 

The car stopped. Dejun hadn't realised they’d reached. He unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car, sliding the door shut behind him. It was his turn. He’s the one who does the drop offs, being trained in three different martial arts and the power of anime on his side always helped when it came to untrustworthy employees. 

They had stopped at an empty road, the shadow of looming skyscrapers of caffeine-run workers casting a darkness over their car. Dejun watched the man in the black overcoat walk his way. Kun’s man, he’d concluded, from the signature pin he put on their lapels. 

“Password?” The man asked. 

“Xinxiang,” Dejun replied. The man nodded. Dejun unlocked the boot and passed the man the bag. “There’s not much in there. Really did a number on him.”

The man nodded again, not showing any signs of emotion. Dejun shrugged. He watched the man go, then got back into his car as soon as he deemed the figure far enough to be safe. It was a long ride home.

\---

Thinking back, Kunhang should have probably placed a cover on the broken window before leaving the house. There was a clan of stray cats and three knocked down granola bars on the floor. Three cats were asleep on their sofa, and the four remaining were either clawing at the kitchen counter or on top of it. 

“Wow, what the fuck,” Yangyang so eloquently described what the three of them were collectively feeling. At the sound of his voice, the two cats on the counter jumped off and ran into their bedroom, hopefully leaving through the open window. The two clawing-at-the-counter cats followed, while three cats slept through their clan’s distress. 

“Let them be, they’re not causing any harm,” Dejun dismissed the cats and walked to the bedroom, flopping down on the bed. He’s done that a lot today, he thought. And then, he thought of Yangyang. 

They’d probably grown some telepathic connection over the years because Yangyang walked in a few seconds later, with Kunhang in tow. They settled on the bed, with Yangyang in the middle - he preferred to lie between them when he wasn’t feeling particularly good. Kunhang probably noticed too, because he told Yangyang to sleep. They’d both figured out that this was the best way for Yangyang to feel better about anything - giving him a break from his overactive imagination. He thought too much.

Kunhang stroked his hair back and rubbed circles onto his stomach, as Dejun shifted closer to nestle Yangyang in his warmth. Kunhang was cold and Dejun was hot, Yangyang liked being somewhere in the middle - enough for the both of them. 

Kunhang looked over at him once Yangyang was in the realm of semi-consciousness, mumbling a barely coherent reply when Dejun asked him if he was awake. Dejun nodded at Kunhang, he understood. They’d talk to Yangyang in the morning. For now, he’d fall asleep to Yangyang clinging onto him and Kunhang’s softening eyes.


	3. 3N

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crying and making out in the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for commenting and leaving kudos! Especially [ ddalkies ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddalkies) ,, your comments really made me happy! Keep writing, I'd love to read it!

Kunhang was breathing down his neck, and so was Dejun. Both of them had buried their faces into his shoulders, probably sometime during the night. Or morning, Yangyang really wasn’t sure of what time it was. The sky suggested four in the morning, but the clock said seven. They’d slept when they got home, sometime around eight, after dropping off Kun’s package and eating a late lunch (early dinner) in the expensive restaurants in the richer side of town. Not his ideal day, but their sleep schedule was already fucked up so it didn’t really matter. He needed to get his shit together.

He loved waking up to his boyfriends, very much so, but right now, he wanted to be alone. It’s not that they’d done anything, they’re trying their best, this was all on him. And his past, and his insecurities, and his A-grade over thinking skills. He sighed, rubbing at his eyes to provide him with some resolve (it didn’t.) 

Not this again. 

It was too soon. He didn’t want to think about his family. They said they’d support him, in whatever he did, and they did. Ethical hacking wasn’t a particularly popular career path in his lineage of lawyers, but a scholarship, that helped. A few months later they found out about his heavy inclination towards boys and that was it. He no longer had a roof above his head, no longer had the warmth of his mother’s embrace, no longer had a family. Kun found him hacking into stores’ security system to steal basic means of survival and hired him, where he met Dejun and Kunhang. 

They helped him. When he decided to go back home and hope for a second chance, they went with him. He’d prepared himself for it - the rejection, the hurt, the possible hope - for months, only to be shot down by his father slamming the mahogany-wood front door of his childhood home in his face asking him to never return. 

He’s not going to lie. It broke him. 

He told himself he’d be okay. He got himself out of it, he spent days just by himself, thinking, convincing himself that there’s nothing wrong with him. He got out of it. 

So why’s it back? Why the fuck does he still have to think about it?

His family is gone. They no longer exist in his world, they’re mere strangers he wouldn’t want recognise in the convenience store around his house. Fuck, he should stop thinking about this. He needs to get it out of his system. Sex? 

“Yang?” 

Oh right. Kunhang and Dejun. 

“Yang?” Kunhang asked again. “You okay, babe? You’re making your sad face you think we don’t recognise.” 

Three years really did help you know a person. Dejun was still asleep, clinging onto him, while Kunhang was on his side, sliding his fingers into Yangyang’s and then bringing up his palm to kiss his hand. It was Kunhang’s way of showing him his support, he’d learned; he did the same thing before Yangyang went to visit his parents and when they went on their first mission, and he does it now when he knows something’s not right. His silent I’m here for you. 

Kunhang would always talk. He was always open about what he wanted - to him and Dejun, especially to him and Dejun. It was easy for him. He could just _talk_. Yangyang wasn’t good at that. 

“Should I wake up Junnie? Do you want to talk?”

Yangyang nodded. 

Four minutes later had Yangyang crying into Kunhang’s chest while Dejun stroked his back, kissing his hair and whispering encouragement into his ears. He didn’t talk to them. Kunhang gave him one look and opened his arms for him, and he’d fallen right in, like he’d done before, like he would again and again. Kunhang held him, asking him to just let it all out, he didn’t have to tell them anything if he didn’t want to. He did. He wanted to, but he didn’t. Dejun kept a firm grip on his waist, because Dejun responded with what he thought best, a grounding touch. It didn’t work, but it helped. 

“Yang?” Dejun asked, once he’d calmed down to hiccups. He nodded, against Kunhang’s chest, his t-shirt soaked through and sticking to him. “Want something special or breakfast?” 

He nodded again. He didn’t deserve this. 

“I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t be dumping this on you guys.”

“Oh, no,” Dejun came right back to bed, stopping in his tracks once he heard what Yangyang said. Kunhang tightened his grip on him, adjusting slightly so that Dejun could hold onto him from the other side. “Don’t you dare think like that, Liu Yangyang. We’ll hear about your problems all day if it comes to it.”

“If you want to,” Kunhang added. 

“We aren’t going anywhere, okay? You aren’t dumping anything on us. We’re together in this, we support each other. No apologising.”

Yangyang smiled to himself. He knew this. He just needed the reminder once in a while. 

“Okay?” Kunhang asked, lifting Yangyang’s head from where he had buried himself into the pillows. “You need to say it.”

“Okay. No apologising.”

Kunhang kissed his forehead and pulled him, and Dejun by extension, closer still.

\---

Dejun did make him a special breakfast, to the best of his abilities, milk and cereal. They certainly did need to go grocery shopping. Yangyang came out of the bathroom looking radiant after an hour-long bubble bath and blushed when Dejun called him a flower. Kunhang prepared eggs for him, and he shooed Yangyang away to the breakfast bar when he tried to help.

“Today’s agenda?” He asked, for lack of better things to do.

“Boss said he’s got stuff planned for the night. We stay in during the day. The company guy should be here soon,” Kunhang replied. Why Kun always called when he wasn’t around was either a tragic-backstory-involving mystery or a strange coincidence.

“Now, eat you eggs,” Kunhang placed a plate in front of him, with two forks. “I’m going to shower, since you and Dejun are bathroom hogs.”

“I took like, twenty minutes!” Dejun protested, but Kunhang was already gone.

Dejun joined Yangyang, picking up one of the forks. He wanted to ask something, Yangyang could feel it.

“Family?”

There it was. 

Yangyang made a sound of affirmation. He really didn’t want to talk about it. Dejun probably understood, so he changed the topic to something he’d been taking a strong interest in recently - adopting cats.

“For the last time,” Yangyang said, after ten minutes of heated debate and discussion over the consequences and repercussions of having a pet feline, “We’re not home often enough.”

“That’s why,” Dejun paused for dramatic effect, “A cat.”

“This again?” Kunhang emerged from the bathroom, startling the both of them. Yangyang sighed, confirming Kunhang’s suspicions. Dejun had the audacity to look disappointed.

“What? We’re never home,” He walked to the fridge, and took out the orange juice Yangyang bought the day earlier, placing it on the table in front of him. 

“Thanks, Kunnie.” 

“No one’s paying attention to me,” Dejun pouted. Kunhang rolled his eyes, then wrapped his arms around Dejun from behind him. He relaxed into the touch, leaning his head back and covering Kunhang’s hands with his. Kunhang smiled down at Dejun - full on smiling, eyes crinkling at the edges type - and Dejun couldn’t help but smile back. Yangyang watched them, fondly, his two favourite people in the world being cute over breakfast was more than anything he could have asked for.

Kunhang leaned down and pressed a kiss to Dejun’s nose. He looked up at Yangyang, who was sitting across Dejun, and beckoned him over. He didn’t say anything, Yangyang saw it in his eyes - he wanted both of them. Something he could never doubt was the love Dejun and Kunhang had for him. They never held back from showing him how much he meant to them. And maybe, he would stop holding back too. 

He walked to stand next to Kunhang, placing his hands on Dejun’s shoulders, who tilted his head up to watch his boyfriends. He turned to face him, eyes trained on his lips. He shifted closer, until their noses were touching and he could see through the dark brown of his eyes, but he didn’t kiss him. 

Kunhang lifted his head, very slightly, to encourage Yangyang. He saw Yangyang’s lips part, on instinct, but Yangyang made no move to kiss him. He merely watched, as Kunhang struggled with the proximity before giving in. Kunhang’s hands were still around Dejun, while Yangyang’s held Kunhang’s face. He stroked his thumb along Kunhang’s curving jawline, settling in the hair behind his ear. Kunhang hummed, satisfied, as Yangyang deepened the kiss, pushing him backwards, up against the wall. Dejun had let him go. 

One of Kunhang’s hands settled at Yangyang’s hips. The other one shifted up, below the fabric of Yangyang’s t-shirt, his nails digging into his side. Kunhang kept a firm grip on him, because he knew how much of a tease Yangyang was, and he wasn’t going anywhere, not today. 

He felt Dejun before he heard him, a sharp intake so close to neck he couldn’t help but shudder. 

Dejun’s warm hands trailed up his sides, one of them settling on his shoulder and the other ghosting over the small of his back, barely, and it heightened his senses, making him feel light with every touch, making his stomach feel hollow. He bit down near the junction of Yangyang’s collarbone, making Yangyang kiss Kunhang harder, pushing him further against the wall. Dejun’s mouth sucked on Yangyang’s lavender-scented unblemished skin, leaving blooming marks, like flowers. 

“Fuck, Dejun,” He breathed out, against Kunhang’s lips. Dejun responded by kissing over the reddening exposure, then upwards to the underside of his jaw.

Kunhang saw Yangyang’s eyes close as he arched his head back to give Dejun better access. He exhaled shakily, and Kunhang felt it on his lips, still in close proximity to him. He leaned down and licked up his neck, before biting down on a sensitive spot he could’ve found based purely on instinct. He knew Yangyang would hold his lower lip between his teeth, he always did, he never gave them the satisfaction of hearing him.

Well, that was going to change. 

Initially, all Yangyang wanted was to tease Kunhang a bit and bribe him into making more eggs because Dejun had finished his share, but he wasn’t particularly complaining, pressed between his two boyfriends as they littered his neck and collarbones with marks. Dejun pushed him, into Kunhang’s chest, then pulled down his t-shirt from one side, finding more of Yangyang’s smooth skin to claim. It felt fucking amazing, like he was free falling into the expanse of their hands, their lips, their touch, and he never wanted it to stop. 

But it had to - because for some reason the bedroom window was broken and it needed fixing and now was apparently the best time for it. The doorbell rang, and Kunhang slammed his head into the wall behind him in sheer frustration. Dejun sighed, removing his hands and lips from Yangyang to get the door. Kunhang gave him an apologetic smile and his eyes promised a later, but Yangyang shook his head. 

“It’s all right,” He said, pulling his t-shirt back in place. Kunhang looked disappointed on his behalf. “Really,” He reassured, lifting his hand to cup Kunhang’s cheek. He melted into the touch, closing his eyes, humming contently.

“Guys,” Dejun's panicked voice interrupted from the doorway. “Come here.” 

The man at their door was not the smiling, friendly window-fixer Kunhang expected. His white shirt was torn and battered, like the rest of his suit. He looked like a runaway from a fancy villain's gala who set the place on fire because they killed his mother, starting a vendetta, probably. 

“You’re the company guy?” Yangyang asked him, thinking perhaps he fell through a chimney on his way over.

“No. I killed him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope I'm writing poly relationships how they are,,, I have zero experience,, please let me know if i messed anything up. Also, it took me forever to write the kiss scene - I hope it's like,,, kiss-scene enough.


	4. 4N

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kun's children and the murderer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! I am back,, thank you everyone who commented!! You guys really make me happy.

Dong Sicheng, as they came to learn, was a man of many talents. However, making it past their doormat to throw up was not one of them. He puked on Dejun’s shoes - not his Balenciaga’s, thankfully - then fell to the floor, completely knocked out. Yangyang was tempted to kick his chest to see if he was still breathing.

“So he’s definitely not here to fix our window,” Dejun remarked, completely in denial of the fact that there was vomit on his shoes. He’d rather not acknowledge that his favourite home-slippers were forever tainted with a murderer’s antiperistaltic waste. 

“He did say he killed the guy, but I don’t think we should trust him in this,” Yangyang vaguely motioned to the unconscious stranger lying half-inside, half-outside their home. “State.” 

Kunhang nodded, then nodded again, more vigorously, to convince himself that this wasn’t some kind of fever dream. 

“I’m going to clean this disaster,” Dejun cautiously stepped out of his slippers, then picked them up like they had personally offended him. “Then we can deal with that one.” 

Yangyang crouched down to observe the man’s face while Dejun disappeared into the apartment. Kunhang was still standing there like he couldn’t believe that anything ever happened and there was no reason for him to be here at all, yet he stood, confused. 

The man’s pointy ears were the first thing Yangyang noticed. He looked like an elf, a very sad and distressed one, whose only resolve was the sweet release of death. His eyes were shut, relaxed, but his forehead creased considerably, enough for Yangyang to be slightly concerned. He was breathing through his mouth, inhaling all kinds of fumes from his own vomit, and surprisingly, the stench didn’t wake him up. 

Dejun returned few minutes later and startled Kunhang out of his unusual daze of disbelief. He always did have a calming presence, very much appreciated in these situations where strangers would vomit and pass out at their doorsteps early in the ten o’clock glory of the morning. He motioned for them to help him carry the man to their living room, which they did, then tied him securely to a chair with some duct tape and spare ribbon from one of Yangyang’s failed experiments to keep track of stray cats. Kunhang cleaned up the mess in their doorway and disposed of the welcome mat, replacing it with the neon pink bathroom mat Dejun bought when he was drunk with Kun and claimed he needed a little bit of colour to wake up in the mornings. It had small red hearts across it too, and the colours clashed terribly. But it would do until they sorted out the mystery of the company-guy-murderer in their kitchen.

“So,” Yangyang started, once they all were seated on the stools of their breakfast bar. “We need a plan. And I propose: talk to Kun.”

“Go ahead, I have nothing better to contribute. Except-” Dejun cut himself off and got up in such a rush he knocked his chair over. The man startled awake at this, taking a breath through his nose, which Yangyang thought he was incapable of doing, and began to cough.

“What the fuck, what the actual fuck,” Were the first words out of his mouth, followed by more coughing. Dejun made a face that conveyed I-was-thinking-of-something-but-nevermind-this-is-better. Kunhang nodded along. 

“So, who the fuck are you?” Kunhang couldn’t believe the audacity. He rang their doorbell, claimed to kill a man, threw up and passed out on their floor, then asked them who they were? His fucking lords and saviours, that’s who. Dejun dragged his stool with him as he walked to the centre of the kitchen. He sat down in front of the man, adopting a hopefully intimidating pose. 

“No.” Dejun put on that lowkey-sexy authoritative tone he rarely used. Yangyang and Kunhang cursed his deep voice. “First, you’re giving us some answers. Did you kill the company guy?”

The man’s chocolate brown eyes widened. “How do you know about the company?” He sounded panicked, his voice shaking towards the end of his question.

“Um, I do. They needed to come fix our window,” Dejun stated like it was as obvious as the fact that Kun was sleeping with Taeil (probably Doyoung too, he wasn’t really sure at this point.) 

“Since when does he fix fucking windows?”

“I don’t know, you tell me, since you killed him.” 

The man wasn’t able to comprehend what the everloving fuck was going on. He remembers saying he killed someone, but after that it was a bit hazy. 

“Okay. He’s useless,” He addressed Kunhang and Yangyang, completely ignoring the man’s slightly offended features. “What’s your name?”

“Why should I tell you?” He challenged.

“We’re probably harbouring a fugitive, would you rather we take you to the police?”

“Fine, fucking hell,” The man scrunched up his eyebrows, thinking. 

“Yangyang over here is a hacker, don’t even think about lying.” 

The man gave in. “Dong Sicheng.”

“Lovely,” The boy with the marks on his neck, who he assumed to be this Yangyang hacker dude, said. He walked past Sicheng, into a room and returned with a laptop. After a few seconds of typing, he made a surprised noise.

His two friends, or boyfriends, Sicheng wasn’t sure, went over to crowd behind the screen before gaping at him. 

“Why? Are you here to kill us? What did we ever do to the Korean mafia?” Then followed by: “But you’re not even Korean.”

What the fuck. They were supposed to find an Instagram profile of an aesthetic account, not real shit about him. How good was this hacker guy?

“I’m calling Kun,” The guy who tried to scare him, Dejun, told the two. A rushed phone call and twelve minutes later, a man in a purple suit barged into the flat, uninvited. 

“Why is it always the three of you, when shit like this happens?” Purple-suit man, who he assumed to be Kun, said to the three of them, in the most done, parent voice Sicheng had heard, and he had heard a lot. He didn’t notice him tied up to a chair, and continued to scold the three like they were kids who tried to start a conspiracy regarding the government’s inefficiency to contain corruption. Someone should look into that, Sicheng thought. 

“And this,” Kun, still yelling, pointed at him. “Where, when, how, who. Go,” 

The trio started explaining at once, three different stories at the same time. Kun told them all to shut up and then asked Yangyang hacker boy to explain. He started by saying:

“So we were making out in the kitchen,” 

Which, in Sicheng’s opinion, wasn’t the greatest start, unless he wanted angry Kun to yell at them again.

Which he did.

Yangyang explained again, the clean version this time, and by the end of it, angry Kun looked more like concerned, parent Kun. Then he turned to look at him, very confused.

“But he’s not even Korean?”

Sicheng rolled his eyes.

“Hey, asshole, we saved you life, so don’t roll your eyes at us,” The third guy, not the hacker and not the try-hard scary boy, said. Sicheng rolled his eyes again for good measure. What were they going to do? Kill him?

“Okay, Sicheng,” Kun started, looking relatively calmer now. “I’m going to make a deal with you.”

Sicheng tilted his chin up, this piqued his interest.

“You’re going to tell your organisation that I don’t give a fuck what they want, so stop terrorising my children, and I’ll let you go.” 

The three of them for real clutched at their t-shirts where they’d assume their hearts to be when Kun called them his children. Sicheng was impressed.

“Look, I don’t give a fuck either, since I burnt them to the fucking ground.”

Kun looked surprised, the kids did not. 

“Yes, that’s why I’m on the run. Now I would really appreciate if you let me go, and I agree not to terrorise your children, or you.” Sicheng made a proposal of his own, quite proud of himself. 

“Fine. But you need to answer some of my questions first.”

He saw that coming. What did he have to lose anyways?

“Shoot, old man.” 

That annoyed him. The third kid gave him a thumbs up and he nodded back.

“Name of the organisation?”

Sicheng’s answer made Kun angry again. At his raise of eyebrows, Kun replied.

“They’re homophobic as fuck, believe me. I’ve met those assholes. Yes, we do illegal shit, but we’re don’t fucking discriminate, god.”

Wait. “What organisation are you?” Sicheng asked, genuinely curious.

The kids watched Kun as he searched for the right answer. “We... deal in wrong people. People who deserve their fate, as carried out by my children here.” He gestured vaguely at the three, who looked close to tears at being called Kun’s children again. What an emotional bunch.

“And, we aim to provide a safe environment for people of every ethnicity, colour, race, gender identity, and sexual identity.” He continued, proud. Sicheng would be too. That’s really fucking nice of Kun. He now respected him more than earlier, it wasn’t much to begin with, but it was something. 

“Okay. Next question: Why’d you burn them down?”

Sicheng didn’t want to answer that, at all. How was it their business anyways? Oh right, they tied him to a fucking chair and he didn’t have any knives on him. 

“They emotionally abused my boyfriend and I, and I am not saying more.”

Yangyang’s eyes softened at that. He looked at him, than at Kun, then very boldly told him if he needed a place to stay he’s always welcome at their apartment. Sicheng died a little, what the fuck. This kid still trusted people. What a nice life.

Kun protested, but the the other two said they’re fine with it too. Impressive. 

“You know, I don’t think I need a place to stay, you can stop fighting over it,” Sicheng commented, interrupting their argument. 

“You probably do, kid. You can’t burn your organisation down and expect there to be no consequences. People will be out for blood.” Kun stated, very matter of factly, and Sicheng couldn’t argue with that. 

“Where’s your boyfriend? Maybe you could stay with him?”

Fuck. They didn’t need to bring Yuta into this. How is he supposed to look them in the eye and tell them he managed to kill his own boyfriend because of his stupid impulsive decisions? 

“No. I can’t. Don’t fucking ask me.” 

The try-hard kid looked taken aback. Whatever. 

“Untie him. He’s staying with you for now. I’m sending Ten and Lucas too, I don’t trust him. Make accommodations.” Kun told the three, they all nodded. He turned to him. “And you, don’t try to hurt my children, or Ten and Lucas, okay? We’ll sort your shit out, and if your organisation attacks, we’re with you. Got it?”

Sicheng dumbly nodded. They were offering him so much, based on just ten minutes of interrogation, he really wasn’t used to this. Well, he’d get out soon enough. And then, it was mission: die. 

Yuta would hate it. 

Kun left, making a grand speech about betrayal and consequences. Sicheng sarcastically nodded.

“I’m Yangyang,” Yangyang started, once the door shut into an awkward silence. “And this-”

“Is Dejun, I noticed. And you?”

“Kunhang,” He introduced and then untied him. Sicheng sighed in relief. His muscles were finally free. He stood up and stretched, then cracked his joints. Got to stay on that flexible life.

“Do you want to shower? The water’s hot.” 

Sicheng would kill for a hot shower. He eagerly nodded and Yangyang lent him a set of clothes, then ushered him into the bathroom. Sicheng observed his reflection and decided to not look at that again. 

As the water nearly burned through his skin, he remembered. He deserved it, the sting of the heat - for the innocent people, for the building, for Yuta. 

Yuta.

He let the first tear fall, followed by many more.


	5. 5N

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of suicide, self-hate. There's a lot of swearing.

“Useless fucking mug. Fight me. Bitch.”

That wasn’t the ideal way Kunhang would start his morning, but oh well. Ever since Sicheng was in the picture, most of his mornings would go like this: He’d wake up, Dejun and Yangyang would try to convince him to come back to sleep, he’d walk to the kitchen to make breakfast for everyone, and Sicheng would be standing there swearing at some random object like it fractured his hip bone. It almost happened once, and Kunhang had never heard more curses before in his entire twenty-three years of existence, that too in four different languages. Sicheng was quite talented in the swearing department, Kunhang had noticed, he wasn’t able to go three sentences without letting out a curse or two. 

Which was why it was to his utter surprise when Sicheng asked him how to make coffee instead of walking off in a huff like he usually did.

Kunhang dumbly nodded. “How do you take it? Black?”

“There’s milk, and sugar - it’s really sweet, and chocolate, I think.”

Now, he hadn’t pinned Sicheng as someone who would drink anything sweet at all. But he wasn’t going to judge him, he taught himself better than that. He took the utensils from Sicheng. 

“Let’s start from the beginning, we will not be needing a knife.” 

Kunhang ending up preparing it by himself, to the best of his abilities. Dejun took tea, and Yangyang drank black coffee, he evidently wasn’t very skilled in sweet beverages. Still, he hoped Sicheng wouldn’t lash out on him for not making his coffee perfect. 

To his surprise (again) Sicheng thanked him instead of settling for a glare in response. Kunhang gave a polite ‘you’re welcome’ and started on Dejun’s tea. He wondered what the hell was up with Sicheng this morning, somehow the coffee had softened him down and he sat at the breakfast bar in a daze, a less menacing one than usual. The sugar really did have an effect on him. 

There were so many things they didn’t know about Sicheng. 

Once he drank his water and made Yangyang’s coffee, he disappeared down the hallway with a tray and two steaming cups to wake his boyfriends up. Sicheng watched him go.

The coffee was pretty shit, but it’s the closest he’d get to Yuta’s. He drank it quickly, letting the liquid burn the back of throat. He deserved it. He’d get out of here soon enough, and then it was up to the flames of death. Douse himself in gasoline and light a match. Be with Yuta. Nothing could fucking stop him from stooping low enough to kill himself. Yuta would hate it, so much. He’d be so disappointed in him. But what was he going to do? He was dead.

Sicheng killed him.

Fuck, he killed him. He killed his boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend, fuck. No more thinking about Yuta, he’d told himself, only think about how you’re going to get the fuck out of here. Let the organisation find out, he didn’t care. Let them attack Kun’s, let them fight until they’re bleeding and helpless. Let them fucking die. 

But first, him. For Yuta. 

Fuck, no thinking about Yuta.

Sicheng was tempted to throw his mug at the wall. He didn’t. He washed it, then left it to dry. The three had matching mugs. That pissed him off. A lot of things about the three pissed him off, mostly how open they were. We get it, you’re together, get a fucking room.

Who was he kidding, he was jealous. Even though he didn’t need to be, who did he have? Yuta’s fucking corpse? Not even that. 

He scoffed out loud. Kunhang gave him a weird look. He had come back sometime during his phase of inner turmoil, holding Dejun’s hand. They mostly ignored him, talking between themselves. Dejun looked upset so he decided to pay attention. 

“He’s sleeping a lot, Kunnie. I’m a bit.. You know?” Sicheng did not, but Kunhang seemed to understand what Dejun was hinting at. 

“Should we try and get it out of him?” Kunhang asked. He sounded unsure himself, there was probably no need for Dejun to say no.

“We’ll have to trust him to deal with it himself. He usually does. I tried. He didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe…”

Maybe what? Finish your fucking sentences, Dejun. He really didn’t need to, because Kunhang nodded. Fuck their telepathy shit. Sicheng wanted to know. Anything was better than thinking about his own problems. Fuck it, he’ll do it himself. 

He padded to their bedroom, making minimal noise. Yangyang was still asleep, hugging pillows in place of his boyfriends. Sicheng contemplated banging his head against a wall or pushing him off the bed to wake him up. He settled for pinching his arm. 

“Kunnie. No,” Yangyang turned to his other side, pulling his arm out of Sicheng’s grip. Kunnie?

“I am not your Kunnie, wake the fuck up.” 

Yangyang turned back to face him, slowly opening his eyes. “Yeah, he doesn’t swear so early in the morning. What do you need?” 

“Shift,” he settled beside Yangyang, who glared at him. Bitch. “So, I heard your boys talking. They’re worried about you. Why?”

“What do you care?” Yangyang closed his eyes again and made himself comfortable in his bed again, he deemed the conversation useless to interrupt his sleep for. 

“Exactly. I couldn’t give two fucks about your shit. It’s perfect. Like talking to a therapist, except I don’t care about your problems and you’re not paying me.”

“Well. that’s logical of you,” Yangyang thought it over - perfect. He has some leverage over him now. He can blackmail him with this shit and run away. 

“Bitch. I’m always logical.” 

“Okay. I’ll tell you. Why am I doing this, this could end so badly.”

“You’re half asleep and I don’t care.”

“Right.”

Yangyang shuffled and positioned himself to face Sicheng. Sicheng smiled, trying to seem encouraging but not too eager. 

“It’s…” Yangyang picked at a loose thread on his blanket. He didn’t meet Sicheng’s eyes. “It’s my parents. They don’t really, uh, support me. Yeah.”

“They homophobic?” 

“Yeah,” Yangyang sighed. “They are. They kicked me out of the house, the family. Don’t ever want to see me again,” Yangyang pulled the thread out, winding it around his fingers. “They hate me, just because I’m not straight. It just,” He sighed, letting the thread fall through his fingers. “Changed in one day. They loved me, and then they didn’t.” 

Yangyang sighed again. Sicheng didn’t look at him, his eyes were glued to the wall opposite. “So, yeah. That’s what’s bothering me.” 

Sicheng nodded. Fuck, he couldn’t take advantage of that, not if he’d been through the same shit. He didn’t say anything. He stood up, turning to go. 

“Been there, done that. Get well soon, kid.”

He left the room, walking into the hallway. Shit, he really didn’t want to think about Yangyang’s problems either, they reminded him too much of his own. And then everything made him think about Yuta and he’s gone down that road again and he wants to cry but he knows he doesn’t deserve to, not when it’s his fault. Fuck his addiction to fire, fuck being an arsonist. He’s here for a good time, not a long time, and at this rate he wasn’t getting either.

Still oblivious to what Yangyang had told Sicheng, Dejun and Kunhang set the table of their tiny breakfast bar to accommodate six people. Lucas and Ten helped them, or tried to, considering Lucas was drinking maple syrup out of the bottle, and Ten was hyping him up. 

“Disgusting.”

His comment caught Lucas off-guard and he choked on his syrup. Ten frantically thumped his back to help him, but ended up making it worse. Kunhang and Dejun looked at them, then looked back at each other in mutual carelessness, Sicheng has to admire them for that. He gave them a blinding smile, teeth and all, and they looked at him like he’s drunk off his ass. Fucking amazing. Maybe he should be. 

He searched the apartment the first night he was here. The three probably knew, but they didn’t do anything about it, since Ten and Lucas kept a good eye on him. They let him do what he wanted to, but stopped him when he found the knives and rifles stashed in their kitchen. Sicheng later found out that Dejun was an assassin, and Kunhang was an arsonist - based on all the equipment he found, and never wanted to see again, thank you very much. Luckily though, he remembered where the liquor cabinet is.

He stopped. Yuta wouldn’t want that. Well, what was he going to do? He was dead. Sicheng fucking killed him and he was gone and he couldn’t stop him unless he came back to life, by some miracle. 

He hadn’t even given Yuta a proper funeral. He hadn’t even gone to look for the body. If he dared to go back to that cursed hotel he’d end up burning himself on the spot, just to give himself the satisfaction of dying at the same place, if not with Yuta. 

“Hey.”

Yangyang came up behind him. He was still rooted in the doorway of the kitchen, he hadn’t noticed Dejun and Kunhang giving him weird looks or Ten and Lucas giving him concerned ones. Yangyang pushed him forward, and he stumbled into the kitchen-living room space.

“What the fuck, kid? Watch where you’re going,” Sicheng rolled his eyes, making his way to the spread Kunhang had prepared pretty much by himself. Dejun was no help, Sicheng noticed, he would usually latch onto Kunhang’s back and annoy him. 

It annoyed Sicheng, too. Because everything had to fucking remind him of Yuta.

He sat beside Ten, who'd already wolfed down two pancakes in the span of less than two minutes, but Sicheng learned not to question Ten’s eating habits. Or any other habits, the guy was pretty odd, according to Sicheng. He gave Sicheng a smile and he saw the gross half-chewed bits of pancake and maple syrup in his mouth.

Sicheng looked away, to his other side, only to find Yangyang already looking at him. He raised his eyebrows. 

“Your turn. We don’t really give a fuck about you either.” 

Dejun shushed him, but no one disagreed. Perfect.

“Okay. So Yangyang and I had a problem sharing session, and now it’s my turn.”

Dejun and Kunhang looked hurt. Whatever, that’s Yangyang’s problem now.

“I had a boyfriend.” 

Silence. They didn’t question him. Not that he’d expect them too, he’s not used to saying the words aloud to anyone but Yuta. 

“His name was Yuta. Nakamoto Yuta. I fell in love with him around two years ago. We’ve known each other for four. He was the reason I kept fighting, to get out of the organisation, to run away together. Somewhere where no one knows or questions us. Where we can be happy together.”

He let out a shaky breath. Fuck, he’d end up crying by the end of this.

“We had a plan. I didn’t stick to it. Some senior had pissed me off, so instead of planting the bomb, I just set fire to the whole building. It’s really satisfying. You’d understand,” He nodded at an impassive Kunhang. “I didn’t tell Yuta. I ran, I ran away from the useless yearly party and I didn’t look back. I left him to die.”

Sicheng swallowed. He’s not going to cry in front of them. He closed his eyes. A tear slipped down his cheek, and fell onto his plate. Fuck.

“That’s it. I killed my own boyfriend, and I fucking hate myself for it.” 

It was quiet. Sicheng tried to hold back his tears. 

Fuck it. He let them fall.

“How do you know he’s dead?” Yangyang asked. Maybe he did give a fuck about him. “You never went back to check, right?”

Sicheng shook his head.

“I’ll find him. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this thrice and I'm still not too happy with it :/// Thank you guys for commenting though!! I love you all!!!


	6. 6N

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concerned Kunhang ft. Snappy Dejun and fine Yangyang, with a side of chill Sicheng.

Yangyang took it upon himself to track Yuta down. He spent the next seven hours after the breakfast ordeal typing away on his screen until his laptop’s battery died, to which he only continued typing, completely oblivious that he wasn’t getting anywhere. Sicheng plugged it in for him. Yangyang didn’t notice, and if he did, he didn’t comment on it. Sicheng sat next to him, silent and glaring at the wall, like it had the answers and was refusing to tell Sicheng unless he sacrificed his blood. He tried. Nothing happened, except now he stained a perfectly good baby-blue wall with red that could pass off as ketchup. Useless.

“Yang?” Dejun snapped Yangyang out of his determination-driven, caffeine-fueled state. “Drink something,” 

Yangyang shook his head, focusing back on the screen.

“You know you can’t spend too many hours on the laptop. You’ll damage your eyes.” 

He hummed in response, not comprehending Dejun’s words. Sicheng shoved him. “Your boyfriend is talking to you.”

“Yes, right,” Yangyang looked up at Dejun, who regarded him with suspiciously hurt eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Eat something. You haven’t eaten since breakfast. Or drink something. You want a milkshake?”

“Only if you make it,” Yangyang didn’t spare Dejun a few seconds of attention, choosing to aggressively type in rapid succession until he slammed down the space bar. “Please?” 

Yangyang looked back up at Dejun, who shook his head. “Yeah, fine.” 

That wasn’t right. 

“Junnie?” Dejun heard Yangyang’s light footsteps trod across the room. He stood facing Dejun, leaning back against the counter he was working on. Dejun looked up.

“Everything okay?” He asked, softly. Dejun nodded. 

“No, you’re lying.” 

Dejun rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you tell me why, then?”

“Because I spoke to Sicheng and not you two,” Yangyang watched his eyes for confirmation. “And I’ve been stuck on my laptop all day.” 

Dejun snapped his fingers. “Bingo.” 

“Look,” He sighed. “I will. Just let me find Yuta.”

“You’ll what? Talk to us or get off your laptop?” 

“I’ll,” Yangyang didn’t meet his eyes. “Both.”

“Why?” Dejun pressed. “Did we do something? Say something?” 

“No,” Yangyang began to walk back to the sofa, where Sicheng was going through his laptop. “Just leave it, Junnie.”

He heard Dejun’s sigh, loud and clear. It rang through his ears, another reminder of how he’d let down both his boyfriends, unintentionally or not. 

He went back to his work. Currently, all reports of the fire claimed there to be no survivors, as the doors had been locked from the outside. Sicheng’s work, part of their plan. The police had reached when most of the building was ashes, the alcohol from the party being a catalyst (also the litres of gasoline Sicheng had poured, but the police didn’t need to know that). (Also also the explosives Sicheng had very calculatedly left at ground level, Kunhang would be proud.)

All in all, it was an extremely thorough job, and any organisation would have hired Sicheng on the spot if he claimed it as his work. Understandably, he didn’t want to. 

Yangyang went through Yuta’s phone and credit card records, and came up with nothing for the last thirty-six hours. Fruitless, considering he spent the good half of the day hacking into a phone company’s server. Yuta did make a suspicious amount of phone calls to an unrecognised number, which didn’t show up on any records. He asked Sicheng about it, and he shrugged. The last call was to that number, minutes before the fire, and Yangyang noted to search for it once they found Yuta. 

That is, if they found Yuta.

He never got the milkshake. 

\---

Another five hours later found Yangyang slumped over his keyboard, still scrolling through data that may have the slightest link to Yuta. Security footage from the police was useless, and of the building before it burnt down too. He didn’t see any traces of Yuta, or Sicheng either, for that matter. They’d underestimated how good Sicheng was at his job. 

Kunhang walked into the room. Sicheng had long since gone back to his room, which was devoid of Ten and Lucas - they’d left, after breakfast, claiming that Sicheng was not much of a threat. He made his way to Yangyang, clapping in his face to snap him out of his staring match with the laptop. Yangyang looked up too fast and saw white spots in his vision, then blinked rapidly. It didn’t help, so he rubbed his eyes instead. Kunhang moved to stand behind him, then held his hands in his own, setting them down on the table in front of him. 

“Keep your eyes closed.” He said, in a low voice. Yangyang obliged. It was more relaxing than he expected. Kunhang’s hands shifted to his shoulders, trailing up his arms, and Yangyang sighed. It felt nice. Kunhang relieved some of the tension that had built up by sitting in the same place for so long and Yangyang definitely wasn’t complaining about that. 

“Why don’t you come to bed?” 

“I need to finish this.” He said, more to himself than Kunhang. “Why? Dejun can’t sleep without both of us? I think I upset him anyway.”

“You did,” Kunhang nodded, pressing down harder. “He’s out like a light, though, super exhausted from doing yesterday’s work today.” 

“What? Yesterday’s work?” Yangyang opened his eyes.

Kunhang’s fingers stopped. He almost whined, missing the comfort of the touch already. Almost. “You didn’t notice? We were gone for a good four hours.”

“Oh. Guess I didn’t. What did you have to do?”

“Kill a few people, mostly disgusting middle-aged men.”

Yangyang hummed. He rolled his shoulders to prompt Kunhang into massaging them again. 

“We’re worried about you,” He started. He felt Yangyang go tense under his touch. “It’s just, we’ve been here for you, always, and we don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell us anything. Honestly-”

“But I do want to tell you.” He whispered. 

“Honestly, it hurt when you spoke to Sicheng and not us. Why him?”

“He doesn’t care that much. If I told you two, you’d be worried about it, but you’re worried regardless.”

“We’re always going to worry about you, and you probably will about us too,” He kneaded at a particular stiffness in his shoulders. “I hope.”

“Yes, I know I will. I just, I don’t want to think about them.”

“Who?”

“My family.”

“Oh, baby,” Kunhang leaned down to wrap his arms around Yangyang instead. He rested his chin on his collarbone. Yangyang melted into the touch, leaning back against Kunhang’s chest. If he tilted his head to the side, they’d be kissing. 

“I don’t want to think about them, just give me another day. I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, you will,” Kunhang kissed his cheek, short and sweet, and Yangyang smiled. 

“Come to bed?”

“Fine,” Reluctantly, he stood up, sliding his laptop shut and leaving it on the side. Kunhang’s hand rested on the small of his back as he walked to their room. Kunhang waited for him to be done in the bathroom, then pushed him to sleep in the middle. Dejun clung sleepily onto him as Kunhang pulled the blanket over the three of them. 

\---

Dejun woke up to gunshots. Rather, the gunshots woke him up. He heard them hit the glass and fall, like the pitter-patter of rain. It was a strange repeat of the week earlier, and Dejun remembered that their bedroom window was yet to be bulletproofed. Fuck. They could be killed.

Sicheng was already in the kitchen when Dejun sneaked his way out of the room. That man was awake every morning before them, Dejun wondered if he ever slept. He was crouched behind the breakfast bar, shuddering whenever he heard another bullet strike the glass. 

“Don’t worry,” Dejun slipped beside him. “Our window has been through worse.”

Whoever’s bright idea it was to make wall of their home entirely in glass was not the best person to ask for interior decorating tips. Their kitchen was often flooded with too much light and the passersby had a great view of their apartment, not to mention that when people tried to kill them, there’s fucking glass everywhere. 

At least the counters can protect them. Dejun took out his favourite rifle from a drawer and passed Sicheng one of his less valued ones. The man nodded, tilting his head to the hallway. Dejun shook his head. He made a peace sign with his fingers and Sicheng looked confused.

“Vagina?”

Dejun face palmed. “No. Stay here, I’ll handle it. If the glass shatters, shoot. Don’t think, just shoot.”

“How is that conveyed through vagina sign?”

“Just do what you’re told,” Dejun shouted back at him as he sprinted down the hallway and into his bedroom. Sicheng saw Dejun nod at Yangyang and Kunhang, who were hidden behind their bed. Dejun opened the bedroom window slightly, and shot at an angle that probably matched with where the shooter was. There was a muffled groan and the gunshots stopped. 

“Call Kun,” Dejun ran back across to Sicheng and dumped his rifle in the drawer, along with Sicheng’s.

Dejun pushed Kunhang and Yangyang beside him, and the four were squashed to hide behind one counter.

“Kun, the shooter guy is back.” Kunhang said, as he put the phone on speaker. 

“What the hell. I’m sending Ten and Lucas. You guys good?”

“Yeah, Dejun shot him, but I don’t think it’s fatal.” 

“Fuck. You’re coming to the headquarters once those two reach your place. And bring Sicheng too.” 

“Got it, boss. Love you-” 

The static cut him off. Sicheng heard him mumble something similar to ‘he always does this’ as he put down the phone. 

There was a weird silence as they sat, no bullets to provide background music. 

“So,” Dejun started, “You guys wanna bet on Taeil being there at HQ?” 

\---

As soon as Ten and Lucas arrived, the three disappeared into their bathroom, which left Sicheng alone with his half prepared coffee he couldn’t quite remember how to make. He wondered why someone was after the three, or maybe after him. If it was because of the building, he had to leave immediately. There’s no way he’s getting the kids’ blood on his hands too. 

The search for Yuta was hopeless. There’s no way he was alive, not after that fire. Yangyang should give up and do better things with his time - like talk to his boyfriends. There was still that problem, and Dejun had started giving him cold looks in passing. 

Dejun wasn’t upset with Sicheng. He was with Yangyang, about talking to Sicheng and not them, so by extension he was upset with Sicheng, but mostly with Yangyang. He watched him now, as he brushed his teeth alongside Kunhang. They seemed to be fine. Kunhang seemed to be fine - when did he talk to Yangyang? And without him? 

“Jun?” He looked up from the floor to the mirror, where Kunhang was looking back at him. “What’s wrong?” He asked. 

“Nothing,” Dejun shook his head, trying to settle his bitch face, but to no avail.

“You sure? You were really glaring at the floor,” Yangyang smiled at him, the foamed up toothpaste in his mouth making him look like that cat from Alice in Wonderland. Usually, Dejun would have laughed and pulled his cheeks.

“Would you rather I glare at you instead?” 

Evidently,he wasn’t at his usual today. Why didn’t they fucking talk to him? They weren’t the only ones in this relationship. 

“Junnie? You-”

“Don’t fucking ‘Junnie’ me, okay? Let me be, god.” He accentuated his words with a roll of eyes, and Kunhang looked exceptionally confused, so he did it again. 

“Seriously, Dejun, why’re you so snappy today? Is it the shooter?” 

“No, Kunhang, the shooter can fuck himself for all I care. Do I need a reason to be pissed?”

Kunhang backed away, and Yangyang followed, giving him a questioning expression which looked more like disgust to him. The door shut, leaving him with his reflection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof okay so,,, I know I said things would get better,,, they will. Bear with me. Thanks for you comments and kudos!!!


	7. 7N

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The timeless words of Qian Kun, pretty tiles, and it's not Taeil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks @ my sis [yuvana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuvana/pseuds/yuvana) for proofreading this and other stuff. And you guys!!! For your comments and kudos!!!

The journey to the headquarters was unusually tense. They would have banged into at least three stop signs, jumped four red lights, and crashed into six other cars because of a cat on the pavement by now, and that too on a good day. Today however, Yangyang’s eyes didn’t waver from the road. 

Nobody spoke. Dejun sat in the passenger seat, scowling out of the window, occasionally throwing Sicheng a glare for making noise when his knee bounced up and down on impulse. Sicheng scowled back at him. Kunhang observed the interaction and sighed. It was going to be a long ride. 

Having had enough after three more rounds of Dejun and Sicheng’s scowling matches, Kunhang decided to settle the matter. 

“Dejun-”

“No.” He cut him off, stubborn as always. Fine then, he can deal with the silence by himself. Kunhang was going to talk. 

“So I’m not very happy today,” He started, and Yangyang threw him a confused look through the rearview mirror as if to say, what the fuck are you trying to start? A bitch fight? 

Kunhang ignored him. 

“Both my boyfriends aren’t talking to each other. Yangyang was stuck on his laptop all of yesterday and Dejunnie is upset but he won’t talk to Yangyang about it, and it’s kind of your fault, Sicheng.”

“I did,” Sicheng sat up straighter, to emphasise his point. “Nothing.” 

“True, I needed someone to blame. Nevermind. I wish they’d talk to each other, or at least look at each other, because-”

“I’m driving.” Yangyang interrupted. Kunhang ignored him again.

“Because then I realise that this won’t work with only two of us, and we really really need the third person to communicate over here, um, Yangyang-”

“No, tell Dejun, he’s the one pissed off.”

“Yangyang, please. I’m talking. Right. So, communication, the most important element in a relationship,” Kunhang made himself sound as pompous and overbearing as possible, yet Dejun simply stared out of the window. Why the trees were so interesting to him, Kunhang didn’t understand. Nonetheless, he leaned towards Dejun to get his point across. 

“So important, it decides the stability and strength of a relationship, the trust, the,” He raised his voice, performing with utmost passion for his words. “Love.” 

Silence. 

“The love we have for one another, we express through words,” He continued, still going strong regardless of the lack of reaction, his booming voice reverberating through the car. “Words are spoken, thus we communicate-”

“I’m sure you can also like, make love?” Sicheng contributed, in all seriousness.

Kunhang nodded, properly invested now. “Indeed. The love, the feelings, the gratefulness, are all conveyed through-”

“God! Shut up. I’ll talk to him. Just please, please shut your mouth.” 

Mission accomplished. Kunhang leaned back into his seat, with a self-satisfied smile on his lips. Dejun glared at him, turning in his seat to give the full effect instead of the half-assed job the rearview mirror does of the waves of disappointment/rage his eyes tend to radiate. 

“You look like an angry kitten at best, Junnie, you’re really not scaring anyone.”

Dejun huffed, then found a better recipient for his glares - Yangyang. The boy in question looked at him, extremely unimpressed, then back at the road. Dejun would be lying if he said he wasn’t offended. 

The rest of the journey was better. Dejun actually spoke to Yangyang, even if it was to complain to him about the police being a capitalist agenda for the profit and illusion of protection just so that the citizens won’t question anything, and the looming prospect of money was too alluring to stop the police from actually giving a fuck about anyone’s protection or rights, the government was a puppet organisation to contain inconveniences and the impending threat of climate change going public. Safe to say Sicheng’s brain was fried once he got out of the car. 

It was a sunny day, sunnier than the usual gloominess that surrounded Kun’s rich-people part of town. Their building stood, in all its criminal glory, proud and carrying the symbol of their legacy - a customised pride flag of sorts, to Kun’s preference of showing all kinds of minorities represented. It was kind of a mess, but no one asked Dejun so he said nothing. 

The interior of the building was inconspicuous, at the first glance it looked like any other basic, business-workplace stereotype shown in the office romance dramas. One needed to know it to realise it wasn’t. The bathrooms had fucking booby traps, like that wasn’t a dead giveaway. Yangyang avoided one now, as he dragged Dejun to a more private space to talk to him, promising to catch up with Kunhang and Sicheng later.

“Babe. Look at me.”

Dejun didn’t. The tiles were patterned, they should probably get those at home too. A little flowery designed usually found on teacups - totally Kun’s doing. 

“Dejun. Jun. Junnie. Dejunnie. Cat eyes,”

Dejun’s gaze snapped up to him. It’s an old nickname, one Yangyang had used when he first met him. It had been a while since he heard it.

Yangyang held out both his hands for Dejun to take. “Listen to me, okay? That’s it.”

Dejun fiddled with his fingers. Yangyang watched him, while he interlocked his fingers and stretched them, then slid his palms to slot with Yangyang’s. He nodded.

“So, about yesterday, and the day before, and earlier. I’m sorry. I know I should be able to talk to you guys - especially you guys, and it’s not your fault. Really, this is all me. It’s just,”

He struggled for the right words, and Dejun waited. He would wait forever.

“I don’t know how to. And that’s something I’ll sort out myself. I’m working on it, believe me, I am-”

“I believe you.”

“I will talk to you. I didn’t want to worry you, but then I do that by not talking to you and well,”

He paused. Dejun squeezed his fingers. 

“I’m not very good at this, but I’m trying. I want to, I know I want to, but I just… can’t. I don’t know how it works. I’m used to dealing with it by myself but now,” He exhaled, drawing out his breath like he was contemplating. “It’s about time. I can’t keep you in the dark forever.”

Dejun let himself smile. He pulled Yangyang forward, into his chest, and held him there. Yangyang relaxed against him, letting all the tension from the past few days seep out of him as he breathed in Dejun’s scent of the lavender body wash the three of them used because it was the only decent smelling one available in the shop downstairs.

Dejun kissed the crown of his head, then rested his cheek on it. Yangyang tightened his arms around his torso. They stayed like that, resting themselves on each other, keeping each other up. 

“It was about my parents,” Yangyang moved upwards to meet Dejun’s confused face. “Why I was upset earlier. I’m not thinking about it now, so it’s okay. But I was earlier. I should’ve told you.”

“It’s okay. You told me now,” Dejun tugged Yangyang’s head back into his chest, as if trying to protect him. “And you will in the future.” 

“Yes, yes I will.”

\---

Kunhang was not having the best of times. He’d managed to keep Sicheng focused until they reached Kun’s office - very conveniently on the top floor, away from everything else and so high up that he could probably watch over half the city. Maybe that’s what he did, Kun was somewhat of a mystery to Kunhang still, even after four years of knowing him. 

“Welcome, Kunhang. Where are your boyfriends?”

It wasn’t Kun’s, but Doyoung’s voice that greeted him. Damn, he had been betting on Taeil to be there.

“They’re talking to each other, after like two days, so let them be. I can handle whatever Kun’s got prepared.”

Doyoung hummed a noncommittal hum and stood up from Kun’s chair. Also something Kunhang didn’t understand - why only Taeil and Doyoung were allowed to sit on Kun’s chair apart from Kun himself. Probably something to do with the sex. If so, Kunhang did not want to know.

“I’ll get him. He’s in a meeting right now, so just wait a second.”

Doyoung went to open the door of the Meeting Room, and Kunhang stopped him. 

“You can’t, he’s in a meeting.”

“When has that ever stopped me?” 

With a flourish, he opened the double doors of the room, posing at the entrance for effect. It’s like he expected people to applaud him. 

All Kunhang heard was a sigh, which he immediately recognised as Kun’s, being on the receiving end of it so many times. 

“What, babe?”

Well, that’s unexpected. He reminded himself to tell Dejun and Yangyang about it later. Doyoung eyes softened, the slightest bit, and so did Kun’s. 

“Your children are here to see you.”

Kunhang tried to hide his smile, he really did, but he ended up beaming like an idiot anyway. Sicheng, who he had pretty much forgotten about, rolled his eyes with so much force Kunhang could see it happening with his back turned. 

“Of course.” 

Kun concluded the meeting with a short ‘we’ll discuss this later’ and around twenty or so businessmen and women in outfits which cost more than Kunhang’s rent briskly walked out of the room. He was not expecting Kun to adjourn a meeting, which looked very important, just to talk to him about who was after them. 

Holy shit. Kun really did care about them that much. He shouldn’t be surprised.

“Well,” Kun walked into his office, after bidding the last person goodbye, and plopped down onto his seat. Doyoung sat on his lap and Kun didn’t stop him. This day kept getting weirder. 

“Where are my other children?”

Kunhang looked back at Sicheng to share his excitement but the man gave him a disappointed smile. “They’re talking. It’s important. I’ll fill them in.”

“Okay,” Kun patted Doyoung’s shoulder and he stood up. Kun walked to his cabinet - which Kunhang had never seen him use, ever - and pulled out a few battered, dust-covered folders. He set them on his desk and beckoned Kunhang over to have a look. 

“We suspect the Dreamies.”

The folder opened to a picture of delinquents - a group of children - posing with stupid expressions. 

“Uh, you sure about that?”

Kun flipped the page. “Don’t underestimate them.”

There was a police report on the next page. A murder, cold case, nothing too uncommon. “One of them did this. I’ve been trying to get in touch, to work with them. I guess this is their way of responding.”

“You should take it as a no, then.” Kunhang said. Then added, “Dreamies, though? What kind of a name is that?”

In the timeless words of Qian Kun, “What’s in a name?”

“Indeed,” Dejun interrupted from the doorway. “Hello, Kun, and unfortunately, Doyoung.” 

He walked, hand in hand with Yangyang, to Kunhang. 

“You guys good?”

“Yes.” Dejun’s free hand gripped onto his. “Very good.”

“Wonderful.” Doyoung drily remarked, watching their interlocked hands. “Why unfortunately?” 

“I was betting on Taeil.”

Doyoung nodded, in full understanding. Kun rolled his eyes.

“Right, the Dreamies are most likely after you. They have-”

Kun was cut off, again, by yelling down the corridor. He made an expression of distaste at Lucas’ screeching.

“Boss! We got him.” 

Ten and Lucas, disheveled and beaming, dragged a body into Kun’s office, leaving a mess on his white carpet. Sicheng muttered something alike to ‘look what the cat dragged in’. 

“Is it a Dreamies’ kid?” Kun was on his feet, ready to examine the unconscious body.

“He looks too old.” 

The man was definitely not a Dreamies’ kid, not with those wrinkles on his forehead, or that pink hair, goodness. His shoulder was injured, from when Dejun shot him. This was their guy. 

“Then…?”

Kun looked confused, a sight in itself - until Sicheng spoke up in a shaky voice. 

“That’s,” He exhaled noisily, panicked. 

“That’s Yuta.”


	8. 8N

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resolutions and runaways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all!! So many hits and kudos!!! Thank you guys!!! also @yuvana thanks bro my tenses are shit

If Sicheng had to pick one event to explain when his life went to hell, it would be when he ate an expired sandwich he found in a taxi. Probably expired, he wasn’t exactly sure what was in it or where it had come from - just that it tasted pretty good at first but after three hours or so, he threw up on his mother’s doorstep. She had shunned him from the household - not for throwing up - and unfortunately he was there to apologise.

She wasn’t happy. But he managed his apology, albeit with a lot of difficulty. He got back into her good books and back into her gang. A year later, he met Yuta. Moonlight smiles and champagne kisses Yuta. They met a handful of times before Yuta joined his mother’s organisation, apparently part of a gang they were affiliated with since like, forever. 

Initially, Sicheng didn’t notice him. He’d seen him walk around the building, delivering files and such, and he always admired the way he held himself, tall, proud, and so gracefully. His inner self told him to stop being so fucking gay and concentrate on work instead, but too bad, he never listened to himself. Three weeks later he asked Yuta out and when Yuta smiled and said yes, he officially gave him his entire heart because how could he not? It’s Nakamoto Yuta.

How could he not, when Yuta lay unconscious on a plush white carpet, dried blood on his face, when apparently having attempted to kill the three people who tried to help him?

“Yuta? As in… your Yuta?” 

Which other fucking Yuta, Yangyang? Sicheng regarded him for a second longer before making his way to his body and falling to his knees. He tentatively reached his hand out, ghosting over Yuta’s chest. Then he settled his palm right over his heart, his beating heart. 

Sicheng cried. He gripped onto Yuta’s shirt as he collapsed over him, burying his head into the crook of his neck like he’d done so many times before, and Yuta would hold him back, strong arms around his waist. But today, he was happy just crying, as long as he could hold Yuta, as long as Yuta was alive. 

He wasn’t dead. Sicheng didn’t kill him. 

Ten and Lucas didn’t look so proud of themselves anymore. Ten shifted awkwardly and looked up to Kun to ask him what the fuck they were supposed to do now. 

“Let’s take him to the infirmary. Sicheng?” To Sicheng’s unresponsiveness, Kun tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Sicheng sniffled and nodded against Yuta’s chest, refusing to leave him. Kun sighed. 

“Can you carry him?” 

Sicheng didn’t leave Yuta, not when they stripped him from the clothing he’d been wearing for the past few days and into a gown, not when they hooked him up to the IV, not when they told him to leave multiple times. Lucas and Ten apologised, but Sicheng didn’t have it. He told them he’d buy them dinner for finding Yuta, even if they knocked him the fuck out for a good six hours. He didn’t even curse. 

\---

“Should we go home?” Dejun asked, once it had been two hours since Sicheng carried Yuta to the infirmary, bridal style, while tears were streaming down his face and onto Yuta’s already dirty shirt. Straight out of a forbidden romance-esque movie, those two. 

Kun nodded. “I’ll call you once Yuta wakes up. Take care of him, until he’s okay to be questioned. Sicheng’s not leaving anytime soon.” 

Kunhang bowed his head in lieu of a goodbye and stepped to open the door, but he stopped. “Kun ge, you know we love you, right?”

Doyoung cooed. Kun pursed his lips in embarrassment. “You remind me every phone call, please leave my office.”

“Kun ge! We love you!” Yangyang added, throwing Kun a wide smile. 

“Out, out of my office,” Kun gently shoved the three out, one after the other, to their protesting shouts of ‘Kun ge!’ and ‘we love you!’. Dejun tried to kiss his forehead and he almost managed, but Kun grabbed his hands and guided him out the doors before slamming them shut.

“What’s wrong? They love you,” Doyoung questioned, swiveling in Kun’s swiveling chair as he reached his hands out for Kun to hold. Kun obliged, pulling him up from the seat and face to face with him. 

“I can’t deal with it. They’re too cute.” 

Doyoung giggled and kissed his nose. “So is their father.”

\---

Kunhang drove. It was chaotic - they probably terrified a few pedestrians from crossing the road ever again and knocked over the plants of a particularly lovely old lady. They helped her, immediately apologising, and she sent them home with some change and told them to eat more.

As usual, a few strays were meowing outside their windows, waiting to be let in and fed. Dejun ran over to the window, unlocked it, and carefully lifted a scared-looking, tiny, tabby cat. 

“This,” He held her up, like he was going to perform the Circle of Life, “Is my baby. Her name is Xi.” 

Yangyang lifted one eyebrow, and Dejun set the cat down. She meowed and tried to bite Dejun for lifting her up in the first place. He frowned. 

“Fine. But we will adopt a cat soon, okay?”

Kunhang nodded, walking over to Dejun and kissing his cheek. “Of course, baby.” 

Yangyang flopped down on the sofa, stretching out like a cat and then curling up on his side. Kunhang shoved him to a sitting position and sat down next to him, very impractically throwing his legs over Yangyang’s lap. Dejun joined them, and Kunhang rested his head in his lap, lying down on the limited space of the sofa. Dejun threaded his fingers through his hair.

“You think Sicheng and Yuta will be okay?” 

Yangyang hummed in response to Dejun’s question. He wasn’t sure. Sicheng did almost kill him.

“If they talk, they’ll be fine. Even if Yuta could have died.” Kunhang said. “Did you see the way Sicheng looked at him? There’s no way he’s giving him up. I don’t know about Yuta, though.”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Yangyang tilted his head to rest on Dejun’s shoulder and slumped against him. Dejun’s other hand messed with his hair, twirling it around his fingers and tugging on it. He pulled his head off his shoulder by his hair and pressed a kiss to his temple. Yangyang smiled.

He turned to kiss Dejun properly, nice and slow, exhaling onto his lips when he pulled back. Dejun kept their foreheads together and he closed his eyes, savouring the proximity. If he tilted his head up, he’d be kissing Yangyang, but he didn’t want to. For now, he was content with the coolness of Yangyang’s skin on his, because they had all the time they wanted.

Kunhang watched them, as they existed in their little bubble, oblivious to anything but each other. He liked it like this, no disagreements or tension, no distractions - just them. Yangyang caught his gaze, returning it with one of his own, gentle and understanding. Kunhang accepted the hand he held out for him and sat up, sandwiched between the two of them. Dejun shifted so Kunhang could be in the centre, then he melted against him as Kunhang wrapped his arms around the two. 

“My boys,” He whispered, barely loud enough for them to hear but they heard, they always did. Dejun responded by burying himself further into Kunhang’s chest and Yangyang by kissing his cheek. 

They lay in silence, even when the cats left to go back to their homes through the open window, even when the light cascading into the kitchen deemed it to be lunchtime, even when Yangyang fell asleep on Kunhang and so did Dejun.

They didn’t move, not until Kun’s phone call. He told them to reach as soon as possible, and reluctantly, Kunhang detangled himself from Dejun and Yangyang to put on his shoes and go out. Dejun woke up due to the lack of Kunhang’s presence and woke Yangyang up too, when he saw Kunhang was leaving. They stumbled out of the apartment, disoriented at what time it was and Yangyang kept drifting in and out of sleep throughout the trip, still in the realm of afternoon naps.

“Good morning, Yang,” Dejun rubbed circles into his wrist, slowly luling him out of his drowsiness. He brought his wrist up to his lips and kissed it. Yangyang hummed. He sat up and got out of the car and stretched, and when his t-shirt lifted Kunhang shoved his cold fingers up his stomach, making him yelp. He laughed, and Yangyang swatted his hands away with a stupid smile. Dejun pulled his cheeks while telling him how cute he was and Yangyang swatted his hands away too.

“Guys.” 

Kun’s voice came from above.

“He really is god.” Kunhang said, nodding up to the sky. 

“Dumbasses, I have a balcony. I raised such stupid children.” They heard the door of the balcony slam shut.

Well. Guess not then. 

Kun met them downstairs and guided them to the infirmary.

The infirmary was, in Dejun’s humble words, a mess. Probably because Sicheng had been too jittery and sorted through everything there, or probably because there were rarely any injuries to be dealt with. Yuta lay on one of the four white beds in the room, and Sicheng lay right next to him, squeezing himself in the space available. The two were talking, in low voices, and stopped once they noticed them. Sicheng held Yuta’s hand, as if to say he’s not going anywhere, and sat up on the bed. 

“Time to go home?” Yangyang asked. “You two can share the room, I’m pretty sure you’re okay with that?”

“Yeah, that’s,” Sicheng looked at Yuta, who nodded. “That’s fine.” 

“Good, I’m leaving then. Take care of him - enough food, enough water, and he can’t be close to any dangerous objects.” Yuta gave Kun a grateful smile and Kun nodded, leaving the five alone.

\---

Yuta was alive.

Sicheng didn’t know how, and he didn’t believe it - not until he felt it for himself. 

But Yuta was here, Yuta was alive, and Yuta was going to wake up. 

He hoped so. 

Yuta did wake up eventually, after Sicheng rummaged through the cupboards and drawers and found nothing to calm himself so he bit the skin off his fingertips, right next to his nails, drawing blood. Yuta did wake up, and Sicheng hadn’t been more relieved in his life. 

He was mumbling, still fuzzy from the drug Ten and Lucas had used on him, his lips forming unfamiliar words. Sicheng gently placed his hand on top of Yuta’s and he withdrew from the touch. 

Fuck.

What if Yuta didn’t want to see him? After he basically left him to die in a fire, why would Yuta want to see him? Fuck, he should leave. Yuta didn’t want to see him.

He stood up, hoping Yuta hadn’t noticed him, and turned to leave.

He was going to get the fuck out of this city, Yuta would never have to see him again, the three would take care of him and he could join their organisation and he wouldn’t have to think about Sicheng, his ex-boyfriend who abandoned him in a fire for no fucking reason. 

But fuck, he couldn’t leave Yuta. I would break him. He barely survived a week without setting himself on fire. If it wasn’t for the three and Ten and Lucas, he would have burned sooner. 

Yuta wouldn’t forgive him. He didn’t leave. He sat back down on the chair next to Yuta’s bed and waited for Yuta to notice him. 

Yuta blinked his eyes, adjusting himself to the light. He looked around, then found what he was looking for. Sicheng gave him a sad smile, his eyes red and his cheeks stained. Yuta’s fingers twitched, as he reached out to him, and Sicheng met him halfway, his hands holding Yuta’s like they were the most delicate thing. 

“Found you.”

It took most of Sicheng’s strength to not cry again. He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he nodded. 

“Where am I?” Yuta’s voice was rough and deep, like it was when Sicheng used to get to wake up next to him in those rare mornings to find Yuta admiring him and whispering to him in Japanese. Yuta never told him what he used to say.

“It’s this organisation. They found me, rather I found them, and they found you too,” Sicheng shifted closer to Yuta, spreading his fingers and then intertwining them with his. Yuta sleepily smiled at that, letting his eyes fall shut again. He pulled Sicheng’s hand closer to his face, resting his cheek on the back of it, and he left the barest kiss on his skin. Sicheng didn’t take his eyes off Yuta. 

“Where were you?” He whispered, and he wasn’t sure whether Yuta heard him or not, or if Yuta had fallen asleep. He wasn’t sure of where they stood, if they were okay, if Yuta ever wanted to see him again. He was sure, though, that if Yuta left, he would too. 

“I’ve survived on nothing before, don’t ask about me. I should be asking you,” Yuta opened his eyes, looking at Sicheng, and all he could see was the pure, unconcealed hurt. Fuck. He did that to Yuta. 

“I ran away, Yuta. I left you and I,” He took a breath as he composed himself. He wasn’t going to cry again, he didn’t deserve to. “I ran. I knew no fucking better. I set the place on fire and I ran.” 

“Why?” He whispered back, the hurt so fucking clear in his eyes he might as well spell it out for Sicheng. 

“Choi pissed me off in the morning and - that’s not a good enough reason. I had no reason to sabotage our plans but I fucking did it anyway and there’s no way I can make that up to you. I’ve betrayed you. I’d understand if you don’t ever want to see me again, fucking hell, I wouldn’t understand if you would. Just,”

Yuta waited. Always so fucking patient, with the fuck-up Sicheng is. He really didn’t deserve him. He waited, he squeezed Sicheng’s hand, he gave him a reassuring smile. 

“I can’t run away from you. I can’t. I was going to kill myself once I realised what I did, and I know that doesn’t make anything better, doesn’t redeem me, but, I didn’t. I didn’t because you wouldn’t have wanted that and I guess,” Sicheng cut himself off, breathing deeply, closing his eyes, swallowing down the tears that had built up. He couldn’t cry. “I guess some of me still believed you were there, even after what I did.”

He held onto Yuta’s fingers like they were the only things keeping him grounded, and fuck, they probably were. He didn’t know what Yuta thought, he didn’t risk looking into Yuta’s eyes, he couldn’t face him. He was going to cry about it and he couldn’t even stop himself from doing that, how fucking useless. He bit his lips harder. No. 

“I’m sorry, Yuta. I’m so fucking sorry. You don’t deserve any of,” Sicheng inhaled. His voice still came out shaky. “Any of this, any of my bullshit. I can’t give you a reason why. I wasn’t thinking, and I know that doesn’t justify anything, but I would never run from you.”

Yuta eyes blurred and it was enough to tip Sicheng off the edge. He fell, his tears staining the bed sheets and Yuta’s hand and himself but he couldn’t care, not when he’s made Yuta cry. 

“I’d never fucking run from you, Yuta, never.”

Yuta felt Sicheng’s tears soak into his clothes, which Sicheng apologised about through his sobs, but Yuta didn’t say anything. Once Sicheng had the strength to look at him again, he held his arm open, and Sicheng tumbled into him, melting into him, drowning in him. Yuta pulled him to lie on his chest, and he rubbed Sicheng’s back as he cried everything out into Yuta’s gown. He kept apologising over and over but Yuta only held him tighter. He curled into Yuta’s embrace, so fucking warm, it had been so long since he saw Yuta, since he heard Yuta, since he touched Yuta.

“Yuta,” Sicheng had calmed down considerably, reduced to hiccups and sniffles, still apologising. “Say something.”

“That night, when you didn’t give me the signal, I went to investigate.” 

Sicheng nodded at him, looking close to tears again at the mention of the night. Yuta turned to face the ceiling instead. 

“I didn’t see you, but I heard everything locking, so I left. I ran up to the roof, to look for you, but you weren’t there. And then I saw the beginnings of a fire. I thought you’d been found out and some company guy took you - but it wasn’t that, now that you told me. So I searched, wherever I could, and I didn’t find you. I spent days, checking up on every hideout we had, checking the burnt site, because I knew there’s no way you’d die in a fire. Not you.”

Yuta looked back at him. Sicheng smiled a sad smile, so fucking grateful his boyfriend didn’t give up on him. If they were boyfriends. 

Fuck, he was going to cry again. 

“Turns out I didn’t have to look for you. Fate wants us to be together it seems, and so do I.”

“I’ll make it up to you, Yuta. I promise. Whatever you want, just please don’t leave me.”

“Oh, Sicheng,” It was the first time he heard Yuta say his name, and after so long, it felt like a breath of air after being held underwater. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Yuta buried his face in Sicheng’s collarbone and left a kiss there, to assure him. 

“I would never run from you either, Sicheng.”


	9. 9N

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sicheng, domesticity, and Wenzhounese

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks @yuvana for the hacking shit, even though you didn't know much, and proof reading

For a guy who attempted to assassinate them, not once, but twice, Yuta was strangely talkative. He talked to them about their lives and about Kun’s organisation, and he hoped Sicheng wasn’t too much of a nuisance to live with, to which Sicheng rolled his eyes and squeezed Yuta’s fingers - that he hadn’t let go of - tighter. It was like none of it happened and Yuta was an old friend they met at a cafe and not someone who just woke up from being knocked out for a good six hours. 

Of course, there was always the issue of why Yuta was after them, but it wasn’t that important - not at all, it’s not like Yuta was going to live with them, right?

Wrong. Dejun was fucking terrified that Yuta might kill them in their sleep, even though he proved to be easy to get along with and very charming, he was still from a foreign organisation. Dejun didn’t trust him. 

Which was why he sat Yuta and Sicheng down on their couch and explained the ground rules to them once they got home. 

“First, we communicate. Something’s bothering you, you talk about it,” He looked pointedly at Sicheng, who made a face of annoyance at him. “No moping and sulking and nobody-understands-me teen angst bullshit. Got it?” 

Yuta nodded, his mouth hanging slightly open at how direct Dejun was being. Sicheng closed it. 

“Second, we trust each other. No stabbing people in the back, even literally. We’ve trusted Sicheng to not kill us, and we’re going to trust you too, Yuta. I know it’s not wise of us, since you’ve tried to twice, but it’s not like we have much of a choice.” 

“Wait,” Yuta looked confused. “Twice? When was the second time?”

“That wasn’t you? Like, a week back?” 

“Dejun. You killed that guy.” Kunhang told him from the kitchen. Oh right, he did.

“Right, but he was from your organisation.” Dejun continued, his authoritative voice back. Kunhang and Yangyang paused to listen. 

“Third. You clean your own messes. You spill juice, you clean it. You search the house, you put everything back where it was,” He looked at Sicheng again, “You throw up on our doorstep, you wipe it up.”

“Again? Sicheng, again?” Yuta almost smiled, slightly amused. “You can’t keep vomiting on other people’s doorsteps, babe.”

Dejun didn’t question it.

“Okay. That’s all there is to it. You can’t take longer than two hours in the bathroom unless it’s both of you, and clean up after yourselves, I mean it.” 

Sicheng hid his face behind Yuta in shame and Yuta laughed, pulling Sicheng into his arms. Then Sicheng buried his face in Yuta’s chest and pushed them both back on the cushions, refusing to meet his eyes when Yuta tried to lift his head. 

“Also, Yuta, we have a few questions that need to be answered immediately.”

At this, Yuta tensed. He stopped smiling down at Sicheng and let him go, and that dropped Sicheng’s mood too. He cleared his throat and sat up, offering Yuta his hand, palm up, fingers outstretched. Yuta took it. 

“Why did you try to kill us?” 

“It’s part of my job - was part of my job.” 

Dejun nodded, slowly, to show Yuta that he didn’t need to be scared to explain anything to them. 

“It was a mission I got. It had passed on from another guy who was killed, the one that you shot, now that you told me.” He squeezed Sicheng’s fingers, then looked at him. “And I couldn’t tell you about it. Confidencial shit, and it wouldn’t have mattered because we were leaving anyway.”

Dejun regarded him with a guarded expression - his story wasn’t doing much to help his uneasiness.

“The mission was to kill the people most valuable to Kun, bring down his organisation and take over. Establish a reputation in China, you know, they were trying to expand here. But thankfully, not anymore.”

Dejun still didn’t look convinced that Yuta wasn’t a threat. Sicheng sighed and held Yuta’s hand tighter. 

“We both hate that place, Dejun. You have no idea. There’s no way Yuta is a spy or an associate or whatever you think. He’s not going to do anything. He’s not here to kill you.” 

“I’m a nurse. I can’t kill people for shit.” Yuta added.

“Then why’d they send you on the mission?” Dejun asked, a bitter edge to his tone.

“I don’t know, they’re idiots. Just believe me, I don’t want to cause any harm. You’ve already done so much for me, and Sicheng.”

Dejun nodded. He really couldn’t do anything but believe Yuta.

“Okay. It’s okay.”

\---

Kunhang didn’t usually mind guests at home. But god, Sicheng did not know how to shut up when Yuta was in the picture. He was a completely different person around him, all happy and affectionate and smiling-at-nothing kind of lovestruck. And Yuta, Yuta was worse. To him, Sicheng probably hung the moon or some shit, because Yuta looked at him like that. Like he’d rid the world of war and hunger and made it a better place. Like he was the only reason good things existed, like he was the only good thing that existed. 

Or maybe they were just really relieved to see each other. Yeah, that’s probably it. 

Him and Yangyang ditched making snacks and cooked dinner instead. Like fools, they skipped lunch and fell asleep on the sofa, so they would end up eating a lot at dinner. Dejun joined them in the kitchen, kissing their cheeks before starting on the rice - the only decent thing he can cook, the only thing he’s trusted to make after that fateful Tuesday morning.

After a minor food fight (just Kunhang pouring cold water down Dejun’s back, nothing new, and Dejun retaliating by putting flour in his hair) they served dinner, only to find Yuta and Sicheng asleep on the sofa, wrapped in each other’s arms in a tight embrace, like they never wanted to let go. Dejun understood - he’d probably do the same thing if Yangyang or Kunhang almost died.

They figured the two could eat by themselves when they were awake, so they left a note out once they were done.

They ended up in their bedroom, sprawled across the polka-dot covers of their king-sized bed. Dejun was in the middle, his head resting on Kunhang’s chest, one of his legs sandwiched between Kunhang’s and the other between Yangyang’s. Yangyang was on his side, his hand supporting his head to stay awake as he kept falling asleep. His fingers smoothened out Dejun’s curled, messy hair and he saw Kunhang watching the disruption, like waves on a calm sea. 

Kunhang shifted one of his legs towards Yangyang’s and hooked his foot below his knee, pulling Yangyang nearer to him. Dejun smiled at the added warmth. He always liked it so fucking warm. Kunhang shifted closer to Yangyang and Dejun buried himself further in Kunhang’s chest, because Yangyang moved closer too.

He laid his head flat against the pillows, facing Kunhang, and suddenly he wasn’t so tired anymore. Kunhang looked at him with his pupils dilated and his lips slightly parted and want in his eyes, as clear as the glass pane that adorned their living room wall, so Yangyang raised a single eyebrow, prompting Kunhang to kiss him. He did, and Yangyang’s fingers stopped combing through Dejun’s hair as Kunhang’s fingers sneaked their way into his hair, tugging at it harshly and Yangyang kissed him harder in response.

Kunhang broke the kiss and took a breath, then kissed him with more intensity than earlier. He tugged at his bottom lip with his teeth then bit down without warning and Yangyang let out a small ‘ah’ against his mouth and Kunhang stopped.

Because _fuck_ , he sounded good.

He wanted to hear it over and over and he wanted to make Yangyang lose his control and he wanted him to just give in for once and not be such a fucking tease and he wanted to make him say his name the same way and fuck, he wanted to hear it again.

He got what he wanted, because Yangyang straight-up whined when he pulled away and Kunhang died a little on the inside. It still impressed him that he had the same effect on them as they had on him. He leaned to kiss Yangyang again, to give him what he wanted, but-

“Not so fast.”

Dejun, who had been stuck between them, detangled himself, pushing Kunhang and Yangyang away from each other. He turned over to Yangyang and held him down, into the mattress, as he positioned himself above him, straddling his hips. He pinned his hands above his head and leaned down, barely a breath away from his lips. 

“Your hands stay there, and you’re going to be loud for me,” He gave Yangyang the barest of kisses before pulling away, making Yangyang chase after his lips, for a change. “Understand?”

Yangyang nodded, his eyes hooded and his breath coming fast, he looked so wrecked and so eager. Fuck, Dejun’s authoritative voice did things to Yangyang, it made him want to listen and mostly, want to please. He nodded at Dejun, who in turn looked down at him with a now soft expression. “You tell me if you’re not comfortable, okay?” 

“Okay,” He breathed out, still very wound up from Dejun’s fucking tone, god, his voice was so deep and seductive, it sounded like the redness of wine, bitter at first, but now Yangyang just wanted it more. His fingers skirted over the hem of his t-shirt, and everything about it made Yangyang so hyper aware; he heard Kunhang breathing fast and felt Dejun’s touches and saw the desire in his eyes - all his senses were heightened. Kunhang shifted from where he had been watching them and whispered something in Dejun’s ear that made Dejun’s fingers stop and hell, Yangyang whined again. 

Kunhang smirked at Dejun and then settled at Yangyang’s side, his cold hands roamed his chest and then in one fluid motion removed his t-shirt. He mouthed at the skin on his collarbone and bit down, like he did earlier, without warning. One of his hands pulled at his hair to tilt his head for better access, and the other kept a firm grip on his waist, still holding him down (as if he was ever going to disobey Dejun).

Kunhang found a sensitive spot on his neck - the same one he always left the deepest mark at, and Yangyang didn’t stop himself this time. He gasped against Dejun’s lips, high and deep and fucking raw, it sounded like heaven to Dejun. He wanted more. 

“Can’t hear you, baby,” He captured Yangyang’s lips in a gentle kiss as his hands left feather-light, teasing touches - ghosting over his skin, making his stomach drop and his heartbeat erratic. His teeth scraped his bottom lip and he sucked on it, and Yangyang wanted him to keep doing that, more pressure, and he arched his back to meet Dejun’s fingers that never fucking settled anywhere.

Dejun broke the kiss abruptly. “Stay down.”

Yangyang nodded. He couldn’t speak. Not when Kunhang was still sucking on his skin, his teeth biting down and his tongue cooling over the indentions, his lips leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses and bruising Yangyang’s skin the shades of dawn. Not when Dejun looked down at him like he wanted nothing more than Yangyang completely unraveled under his fingers and breathing hard and saying his name and begging for him to just give in, just give him what he wanted, please. 

But Dejun didn’t, Kunhang did instead. He tugged at his hair - something Yangyang had associated with Kunhang wanting attention, so he turned to face him. Kunhang’s lips found his and he kissed him hard, messy, and deep, just like he wanted, breaking away to breathe then diving back in. He kissed him like glass shattering, breaking him down and giving him release and then he kissed him like water dripping, creating waves and smoothening out. He kissed him and poured everything into it, giving and pushing and pressing him down and Yangyang wanted to give too, so bad, but all he could do was take, not give, not when Dejun told him not to. 

Kunhang kissed him and he kissed back, his fingers twitching to reach out and hold him, touch him, feel him in any way - but he didn’t. It made his stomach coil and toes curl and his heart beat faster and he loved it, he loved being needy and restrained and fucking desperate and loud - not as often as he loved being in control, but he loved it still, wanted it still. 

He wanted it more when Dejun’s breath ghosted over his collarbones, warming him up in contrast to Kunhang’s cool touches. Dejun’s fingers traced the marks Kunhang left earlier, making Yangyang wait - but he wasn’t in too much of a rush, already occupied with Kunhang’s lips against his and their teeth clashing and Kunhang’s taste in his mouth and he wanted so badly to touch - but he didn’t.

Dejun’s fingers trailed to his wrists, circling his pulse points and then he leaned down to drop a kiss on each of them. 

“So good for me,” He slid his fingers through Yangyang’s and Yangyang held his fingers hard, pushing everything into the grip he had, his only release as Kunhang moved down to his neck and he couldn’t kiss the frustration away. “For us.” 

Kunhang nipped at his skin - that wasn’t already marked - and his fingers drew lazy circles at his navel and Yangyang kept making small noises, louder when Dejun whispered encouraging words in his ear and then bit down on it. He felt Kunhang smile against his skin, satisfied, as he painted his skin hues of the sky and Dejun mapped the stars.

\---

Yangyang woke up with a crick in his neck and too much warmth surrounding him. Kunhang and Dejun had caged him in their arms and clung onto him like he was keeping them afloat in a sea. He shifted to make himself comfortable and woke Kunhang up, who kissed him and told him to go back to sleep, he’s been so good, he should rest. He left him with a sleeping Dejun, who shifted closer unknowingly and mumbled something about cake before falling back asleep on Yangyang’s chest.

Kunhang was expecting dirty dishes and meowing cats outside their window, but the window was open and the dish was full of cat food, and Yuta and Sicheng were cooking breakfast, the dirty dishes from the night before cleaned and drying beside the sink. Kunhang rubbed his eyes. 

Yuta was cooking eggs while Sicheng stood by the toaster, not cursing at it (wow), while they talked about the Korean stock market like losers.

“Good morning,” Kunhang walked into his kitchen, which had been taken over by people who did not own it, and started on Dejun’s tea. 

“Good morning, Kunhang. How was the sex?”

Kunhang dropped the tea bag he was holding at Yuta’s question. It stayed on the ground. “Sorry?”

“You guys were pretty loud,” Sicheng shrugged and pulled the plug on the toaster. The toast popped out and Sicheng grabbed it in his bare hands and Yuta scolded him for it. “Whatever, I’m immune to it. So,” He looked back at Kunhang, who was still staring down at the tea bag on the floor in shame. “How was it? Didn’t pin Dejun for a dom.”

“Neither did I,” Yuta nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. 

“Yeah, whatever. I’m going to pretend that conversation did not happen,” He put water to boil and picked up the neglected tea bag. “How was dinner? Everything okay?”

“Yes, thank you. Also, why are there no knives in your kitchen?” Yuta asked, attempting to cut an onion with a fork.

“Safety issues. I’ll cut that for you,” Kunhang removed the knives from a hidden drawer, password protected for security reasons, and sliced up the onion with deadly accuracy while Yuta and Sicheng watched, impressed.

“Wow. You guys never fail to surprise me,” Sicheng lathered his toast in too much butter and then jam, and Kunhang returned the sentiment. 

The pan sizzled as Yuta added the chopped onions, the smell diffusing through the apartment, waking Dejun from his slumber. He dragged a complaining Yangyang through the hallway to the kitchen, the light making his skin glow. Kunhang smiled at him as he made his way to the breakfast bar, ditching Yangyang to fend for himself in the tedious walk to the kitchen. 

Kunhang opened his arms for him and Dejun clung onto him, like he usually did when he was sleepy. “Good morning, baby.”

Dejun hummed against his neck, sending vibrations down Kunhang’s back. He wrapped his plaid-pyjama bottom clad legs around his middle and clung onto him tighter. “Good morning,” He carried Dejun to the breakfast bar and set him down on it. “Here’s your tea.”

“Don’t you drink coffee?” Sicheng asked, genuinely and not sarcastically, which caught Dejun slightly off guard. 

“Yeah, I have both. Tea for the taste and coffee also for the taste.”

“Decaf?” 

“Yep.” 

“You’re really living on the edge.” 

Yangyang finally made it to the kitchen and pulled out a stool from the breakfast bar and plopped his head down on the table as he sat down. Dejun shifted closer to him so Yangyang could rest his head on his lap. 

Yuta eyed them. “What’s up with him? Tired from last night?”

Dejun nodded at Yuta, much calmer than Kunhang’s reaction. “Baby boy needs his rest.”

“Please don’t be kinky in the kitchen-”

The telephone interrupted Sicheng. It rang, loud and clear, and everyone started at it in minor concern and reluctance before Yangyang groaned and trudged to the living room to pick it up.

“Kun? Is this a dream? You’re talking to me on the phone?”

“Yangyang, thank goodness it’s you. We have a problem.” 

Yangyang nodded, before realising that Kun couldn’t see him. “Yes, I never get to talk to you. Is this about yesterday? We do love you, don’t -”

“We’ve been hacked.”

A pause. “Oh, fuck.”

\--- 

Yangyang took it upon himself to encrypt all their data when he’d first joined Kun’s organisation, a good three years ago. He took one look at their files, on Google Drive, for fuck’s sake, and made it his mission to code them so well no one but him would be able to read anything. 

He regrets it now, knowing his Wenzhounese isn’t the best and his inner history nerd really jumped out, why did he chose the language they used to code military shit in the Sino-Japanese war? It was used for a reason, the reason being it’s fucking difficult. And he’s made a jumble out of it, to rule out the possibility that anyone would be able to understand it - if they got past the numerous firewalls and security questions, if they managed to get into the cloud in the first place, there were layers upon layers of security Yangyang himself wasn’t able to hack into before his sixth attempt. 

He managed to now, on his first attempt, and he wasn’t sure if he knew the system well or if the security had gone lax. Everything was the same as he remembered it, he knew the way the system was structured, more importantly, he knew when it sent warnings to Kun’s music computer. Even if they gained access, they’d find hoe anthems from the late two thousands and maybe a cat video or two.

So when he learned they’d managed to get past the very first firewall, he was impressed. They hadn’t reached the Wenzhounese yet, the first few questions were things you’d read in a bad joke book, the first one being:

‘The answer is in the question’, to which the answer was ‘in the question’. 

It was lame, but so unlikely that Kun let him roll with it. But now, Kun was pissed. 

Yangyang decided to hack the system, as a hacker with malicious intent and not like he was doing it for ethical purposes. He could see who was online and when they were online, and since the warning had been sent to Kun around four minutes back, he’d catch them in time - if they got through the Wenzhounese questions.

It was fruitless though, as the encrypted data was useless to them - they’d need Kun’s permission to download anything, so they would need to rely on the cloud, from which Yangyang would have deleted the files. Still, he can’t risk it.

Yangyang himself was half way through the Wenzhounese questions, struggling even with a guide he’d retrieved from the depths of his collection. Dejun and Kunhang left him alone, knowing he’d need his space to get into his space, but Sicheng did not know that. 

“Why are you asking your eggs to fry mother?”

Yangyang dropped his book onto the floor, creating an ugly sound of disbelief. 

“Sorry, what the fuck? You know Wenzhounese?”

“It’s my dialect, shift up,” Sicheng set down his mug of coffee - that Yuta had made for him, Sicheng had cried of happiness, the three did not know what the fuck to do - and sat down next to Yangyang on the sofa.

“I can read for you, since you don’t seem very skilled in that department,” He eyed the fallen book, pathetically disregarded on the floor. “Why did you pick a language you don’t know?”

“Because nobody else knows it.”

Sicheng nodded. “Okay. Now, the grammar is very off here, and you’ve used some incorrect-”

“Read it from right to left.”

“Oh.” Sicheng said. Then added, “Smart kid.”

They finished the questions together. Yangyang didn’t remember why he set such ridiculous questions, but he remembered the utter joy he got from the chosen answers at three in the morning around two years back when Kunhang and Dejun found him laughing on the kitchen floor with tears in his eyes.

He was in. 

Nothing. There were no other parties on the server. Had they managed to hide themselves? If so, he needed to know how to -

Like a blink of hope, a green dot appeared on the top right of the screen. Yangyang started on deleting the files, the passwords locked away in some part of his brain seeing the light of day now. The last thing required - Kun’s permission. 

As he waited on the approval, he tapped into the IP address of the hacker. Even if they were using a VPN, Yangyang was a step ahead. He’d gone through most of the possibilities when he was initially working on it, and a proxy detector was one of the first things he established. 

A notification signaled Kun’s approval. It took three seconds for the files to be deleted, disappearing like Yangyang hadn’t spend most of his first year encrypting and securing them. In three seconds, they vanished into thin air, and Yangyang almost saw the confusion portrayed on the green dot. Thank the fucking heavens he had back-ups on three different hard drives. 

His phone rang, the ringtone startling him from the cloud of silence that had settled over him when Sicheng left. 

“Kun?”

“Is it done?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Kun sighed from the other line, clearly relieved. “Thank you, so, so much-”

“It’s really nothing. If anything, I need to rework the system since they managed to get through it.” 

“No, you’ve done well. Go, get some rest, work on it later.” Yangyang smiled. “Can you tell me who it was?”

“I don’t need rest.” He paused to check. “Oh fuck, Kun. It was from Korea.”

He stood up abruptly, making his head spin.

“Yuta said there was a mission, right? About time we shut it down.”

“How? They managed to get into our system, Kun. If you didn’t tell me in time they could've found out everything. How are we going to shut them down?”

“We fight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, guys. Exams and stuff. Tell me if uh I need to like,, up the rating. I have zero experience in hacking and making out, please let me know if I've made a n y mistakes. Thanks for your comments and kudos they give me happiness!!


	10. 10N

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misunderstandings, treason, and champagne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long,, it was much harder to write than expected eek. enjoy this chapter and thanks for 100 kudos!!!

When Kun said ‘fight’, he did not mean physical fight. Later, Yangyang felt like an idiot for thinking so. He meant: burn down their China branch, hack into their system to corrupt everything, and kill their heir, maybe. But Yangyang did not know any of that, so naturally, as one would, he assumed Kun meant war. And in his world, war involved missiles and betrayal and death. Yangyang was not prepared for it.

“Kun. No. We can’t risk the atmosphere like that.”

“It’s just one building, you’ve never complained before.”

“We can’t launch nuclear missiles on only one building.”

“Just come to HQ, we’ll discuss everything.”

Yangyang, shaken up from the conversation, hesitantly put the phone down. War. Kun was going to war. He told Dejun and Kunhang so, and they solemnly nodded, accepting that this was the next best course of action if Kun thought so - and taking whatever Yangyang said as the eternal truth, which was not very wise.

Yuta asked him what he was so upset about, and Yangyang told him. He was not going to bottle it up like last time. Yuta offered him a hug, and Yangyang settled against him in silence. He saw why Sicheng liked being near Yuta so much, he had a distinct ‘everything will be okay’ vibe to him, and Sicheng… well, he could use that. 

The journey to the headquarters was tense. Dejun kept a strong grip on Kunhang’s hand as he drove with the other, and surprisingly, he managed the drive easily. No distractions. He didn’t smile at the old lady whose plants they knocked over, he didn’t smile at Ten or Lucas when they greeting him, chipper as ever, in the parking lot. He didn’t smile at Taeil either, who was lounging in Kun’s office - on Kun’s chair - while Kun was finishing an earlier meeting. 

“What’s got you in such a bad mood?” Ten slipped into the seat next to him on Kun’s leather sofa (fake leather, Kun couldn’t stand anything real leather) and tapped his shoulder. 

“How are you in such a good mood?” He shifted away from Ten’s touch. “We’re going to war.”

Ten withdrew his fingers. “We’re what?” He looked at Lucas, who gave him an equally surprised face.

“We’re going to war?” He repeated Kunhang’s words. “What? Why didn’t Kun tell us?”

“He told Yang,” Kunhang shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t want him to die.” 

“Shit. No one wants Kun to die.”

“Kun’s going to die?” Taeil interrupted, his eyebrows furrowing together, making him look like an aloof chipmunk who ate a bad nut. 

“Kun’s dying?” 

They all turned to see Doyong in the doorway, his mouth hanging open in pure horror as he looked at Taeil - who stood up at seeing him.

“I’m afraid so,” Taeil walked to Doyoung and Doyoung met him halfway, their hands reached for each other and Taeil pulled Doyoung to his chest. “He’s going to war.”

The whispered words held a solemn atmosphere. No one spoke, no one needed to. In the limited time Sicheng knew Kun, he himself was sad about Kun going to war; the man had strangely become important to him, though he shouldn’t be of much importance. It confused Sicheng, and Yuta shifted a bit closer in show of understanding. It confused Yuta too.

The silence was broken by Kun. Like slicing the tension with a knife, he briskly walked into the room, completely absorbed in reading the paper in his hands. He didn’t notice the people in the room and continued walking to his desk until he bumped into Taeil and Doyoung (still hugging) and looked up, all eyes on him.

“What?” He asked, his raised eyebrows giving him a particularly endearing look, and then, “Doyoung?”

“Oh, Kun.” Was all Doyoung said before pulling Kun into his and Taeil’s arms. Kun, still extremely clueless and slightly concerned, returned the gesture and then pulled away from the two.

“What’s got everyone so worked up?”

“The plan, boss.” Lucas replied. 

Kun gave an ‘oh’ of understanding then ushered everyone into his meeting room. The room didn’t hold much in itself, a simple cream-walled rectangle, with a large table and around a dozen chairs. It did, however, give a finality to the situation. Made it official. No more Kun. Dejun wanted to cry.

“So, let’s get started,” Kun sat at the head, smiling despite the situation. He pulled up a presentation, titled ‘Decline of Homophobic Mafia Whose Name We Don’t Mention’. He waited, expecting a chuckle or maybe a fist bump from Ten, but everyone nodded in seriousness. 

“What? It isn’t funny? Or ‘iconic’, as you guys put it? Come on,” He changed to the next slide. “I’m just trying to make the situation a bit better. You don’t have to be so serious. What’s gotten into you all?”

The next slide, titled ‘Execution’, made Lucas snap. “Boss,” He started. “I don’t want you to die.”

“What?” Kun looked at everyone, to see if they thought the same. Dejun had tears in his eyes.

“I’m not dying. Guys, it’s just another mission. Why’re you all so sad?”

Ten scrunched his nose and narrowed his eyes, his equivalent of ‘oh, you haven’t heard?’

Kun sat down. “Care to explain?”

“It isn’t war?” He asked, genuinely confused. Kun looked back, equally surprised. 

“Who said it was? They’re not worth going to war with.” 

“Taeil!” Doyoung deflated, his previous posture of stiffness melted into slumping shoulders as he punched Taeil’s arm.

“It wasn’t me! I heard from Ten,” He glared at Ten, which Ten interpreted as ‘bitch, this is your fault.’

“Hey. Don’t look at me! Kunhang told me,” He pointed a single, accusatory finger at Kunhang, who open his mouth in protest.

“That is such bullshit,” He stood up, incoherently muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘fight me’ and turned to Yangyang. “Yang told me.”

“Well, Kun said fight! So I thought he meant war.” Yangyang defended himself, using frantic gestures to support his argument. He looked at Kun, hoping he wasn’t wrong. “Right?”

Kun slapped himself in the forehead with his palm. “No, Yangyang. No,” He audibly groaned, instantly calming Doyoung and Taeil, which calmed Lucas too.

“Wait,” Ten interrupted. “I’m still confused. We’re not going to war?”

“No, Ten,” Kun looked crestfallen, even more than when Kunhang bought him a plant and a cat for his birthday (he simply did not have the time to take care of them but now he had to, Kunhang guilt tripped him into it). “Why are you all so stupid?”

“Fuck off, Kun,” Dejun was actually crying now, of relief, Kun hoped. “We thought you were going to die.” 

“You guys,” He muttered, defeated, disappointed but not surprised. “Come here,” He stood up and opened his arms wide, and Yangyang ran into his chest, pushing him back. He was crying too, and now Kun felt horrible. He made his children cry. Dejun and Kunhang piled up next, worming their way into Kun’s arms as he held Yangyang. Ten latched onto one of his sides, ducking his head to fit between Kun’s arm and Dejun, while Lucas hugged him from behind.

“There’s more room,” He offered, drily nodding at Doyoung and Taeil, who watched with matching, fond smiles.

Taeil shook his head. “It’s okay, babe.” 

There was a muffled ‘babe, huh’ and Kun rolled his eyes. They seemed fine now. “No one is going to war, and no one is dying.” He said, into the mess of bodies that clung onto him. “Now go sit, and we’ll discuss everything.”

“Not until you say it.”

Unfortunately, Kun knew exactly what Kunhang was referring to. He sighed. “Fine. I love you guys too. Now go.”

Dejun, who had settled down, broke into tears again. Ten and Lucas held onto him tighter, and when he looked at Taeil and Doyoung for help, they smiled stupidly at him and cooed. He dropped his arm to his side but Kunhang placed it back around himself, and now Kun had no choice.

After thirty more seconds of suffocation, Kun pushed them away despite their protests. They needed to focus on the mission, the sooner it’s over, the better. 

“So, execution as in how we’re going about the mission, not my death.” Kun very necessarily commented, then allowed the other seven to go through the slide (they’d left Yuta and Sicheng outside with Kun’s extremely talkative secretary, Sicheng would hate it.) 

“You’re telling me,” Yangyang started, then checked the slide again to see if he was seeing quite right, “That I have to hack into their database and corrupt their files, which are basically useless to us, out of sheer spite?”

Kun beamed at him. Yangyang wearily nodded. 

“That’s just step one,” he continued, still smiling. “Then Dejun will kill their heir - because fuck them, they messed with my children - and we will make it look like a suicide so it hurts more.”

Doyoung and Taeil shared uncertain eye contact, which didn’t go unnoticed by Kun, and at his questioning glance, they only nodded in encouragement.

“Kun, as happy as I am that you’re fully embracing the parent role, I think faking a suicide is a bit far,” Dejun held his forefinger to his thumb, leaving the thinnest gap for air between them, emphasising exactly on “A bit.”

Kun looked straight through him, his eyes never focusing, and it creeped Dejun the fuck out. Was Kun high?

“Fine,” Kun waved his hand dismissively in Dejun’s general direction, after three whole seconds of eerie silence. Dejun shared an uncomfortable look with Kunhang and then Yangyang, both mirroring his thoughts. 

“Okay. After the heir is dead, Ten, Lucas, and I will kidnap the high rank men, the worst ones, and torture them into giving us the plans for their future so that we can ruin them. Our goal is to leave them tarnished, struggling back up to their feet, so they and their ugly ass friends won’t mess with us again. And, to top it off, Kunhang will set fire to their building, letting them burn to the ground, and they’ll have to build their way up again.”

Kun’s voice gradually ascended to a crescendo, his fists found solace banging on the table, and his left eye twitched at the end of his short speech. Ten stood up and reached a hand out to comfort him, but Taeil beat him to it. He turned Kun’s chair to face him, then sat on the floor in front of him, prompting Kun to do the same. He followed, wordless and blank, he’d scared himself too by the end of his little monologue, that was not normal of him. Taeil held his hands out for Kun to take and he gripped them, probably crushing Taeil’s bones but Taeil said nothing. He mimicked deep breaths and Kun followed, unquestioning, quiet. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, once Kun had settled into a calmer breathing pattern.

“I’m - I’m really fucking stressed.” It came out in a rush, and Kun was out of breath, trying to calm himself again. 

“That’s okay, it’s okay.” He nodded at Kun, who nodded back - he followed whatever Taeil told him to do. 

“Now, you’re going to drink a glass of water, and then lie down. We’ll continue this meeting once you’re better. Okay?” 

Kun nodded as Taeil guided him out of the room and Doyoung told everyone to go home, they’ll deal with this tomorrow. 

So home they went, a little reassured but more concerned. Yuta and Sicheng didn’t ask, they knew it wasn’t their place to. They made their way back in silence. How had Kun’s demeanor changed so quickly? 

Yangyang stared at the vehicles on the road like they had the answers, and to his disappointment, they didn’t. They flew by like seconds on a clock, unbothered to what they were causing. He found some kind of satisfaction in it, the obliviousness, how nobody stopped and waited because they didn’t care about what was going on in someone else’s life. In the end, he didn’t matter, and thank fuck he didn’t. He knew he couldn’t make a difference anyway, they all did, they just wanted to spend their lives happy. If destroying evil people’s reputations was the way to do it, so be it.

Yangyang wasn’t sure what to say, if he should say anything. The silence, though usually welcomed, bothered him. He wanted to talk. 

For once, they used their dining table to eat, rather than to stack up useless letters and clothes they didn’t know where to keep. Dejun took out the fancy plates too, (they had blue designs instead of pink ones, much classier in Kunhang’s opinion) and Yangyang asked what the occasion was.

“To abolishing anti-LGBTQ+ organisations,” He tilted his head at Yuta and Sicheng - both staring into space with matching smiles while mindlessly holding hands. “And for them.”

They deserved it. He had no idea what Yuta and Sicheng had been through, but it didn’t sound nice to him. 

“So,” Yangyang started, once they were all seated and midway through their meal. “If Sicheng was an animal, what would he be?”

“Trick question, Sicheng is an animal.” Yuta replied, not missing a beat, then sipped his water like it was tea. 

“A bitchy one,” Kunhang nodded at Yuta, who inclined his head at him in show of agreement. 

“Maybe a meerkat. He looks like one,” Dejun leaned back in his seat to observe Sicheng.

Sicheng watched the exchange with an open mouth. “I cannot believe this slander. Yuta, I thought you were on my side.”

“Sorry babe, can’t deny the truth.”

“Bitch,” Sicheng smiled at him, then flicked his spoon so some soup landed on Yuta’s face. Yuta looked back, mock offended, then threw some soup back at Sicheng. Dejun tried to hide his smile but Kunhang caught onto it.

“No, you don’t,” Kunhang took Dejun’s spoon before he could do anything but Dejun lifted his bowl threateningly.

“You wouldn’t.” Kunhang challenged, lifting Dejun’s spoon in retaliation. Like that was going to do anything. 

“I wouldn’t,” Dejun lowered his bowl, some soup splashing out the sides. He smiled. “But oh, I would.”

He tipped Kunhang’s chair back, and without warning, Kunhang fell, barely managing to grab onto the table to not land on his ass.

“It is on, Dejun.”

\---

Doyoung called, once they finished their impromptu fight of sorts, and Yangyang didn’t recognise his number, so naturally he started with:

“Hello stranger, I’m bi and ready to die, what are you selling me today?”

“It’s Doyoung. Are you okay?”

“Oh, fuck, hello. Yes, I’m okay. Is Kun okay?”

“Yes, he wants to meet you guys. Drop by at his place around six? Bring Yuta and Sicheng too, he said.”

“Sure, no problem at all.”

\---

They’d only ever been to Kun’s apartment around six times, and not once after he claimed to have had it renovated. The first thing Kunhang noticed was the dish of cat food. It was full.

“Is the cat not eating?” He asked Kun, who was lying on his expensive, plush, white sofa, his head in Doyoung’s lap and his feet in Taeil’s.

“No, fuck you, she has. You’re just paranoid I’m not a good parent.”

“Kun ge! You’re a great parent. Why’s he so upset?”

Taeil shrugged. 

“Leave me alone. Sit, I’ll brief you over the mission,” He gestured at the carpet below, and the five toed off their shoes and sat. 

“So, Yangyang will corrupt the files, because they tried to corrupt ours. It’s fair. You start around three in the afternoon tomorrow, while Ten, Lucas, and I break into their vaults. They can consider it a warning.”

Ten and Lucas were nowhere to be found, though it was their home too. At Yangyang’s raised eyebrow, Kun explained.

“Grocery shopping. They’re buying me comfort food.”

A wave of understanding rippled through the five, Doyoung watched with dull amusement. 

“Now, Kunhang, you’re coming with us, but you’re not setting their cash on fire. Burn through the vaults, through the security system - they wouldn’t know how to recover for a good six months and it would leave them in the open.” 

Yangyang saw it all happening - the walls exploding in slow motion behind the four as they walk out in their all-black outfits, confident and undefeated, with badass background music. Kunhang would have one hand in his pocket and the other with a bag of money thrown over his shoulder. Ten and Lucas would high-five, in coordination, at the beat drop - while Kun drags the black body bags of cash effortlessly, looking every bit the leader he built himself to be.

“-And Dejun, you don’t have to kill the heir. Just find him, shoot at his feet - or shoot his feet, up to you - warn him. We don’t want trouble, we’re just warning them.”

“And how,” Sicheng spoke up, “Pray tell, are you managing all of this?”

“Easy,” Kun sat up. “CCTV cameras have always been at our disposal, thanks Yangyang, so the only issue left is human. And how do you solve that?”

“Money.” Yuta replied.

“Wrong. Weaknesses. The vaults are situated below the building, maximum security - motion sensors, trip wires, thermal sensitive tech - you name it. But who’s behind it all?” Kun regarded them expectantly, knowing they wouldn’t have the answer. 

“Humans?” Yangyang tried.

“Lee Jihoon.”

Yangyang’s jaw dropped. “No fucking way. The Lee Jihoon?”

“Afraid so.” The thing is, Lee Jihoon had a reputation for being extremely useful - but at a hefty price, which, if the Koreans were able to pay, means that they had more than just Lee Jihoon, means that they had technology beyond Yangyang’s acquaintance, means they had a vaster, better system than any of them had seen. 

“We’re fucked. We can’t do this, Kun.”

“No, Yangyang. We can. Because,” Kun leaned forward, crossing his fingers together and resting his elbows on his thighs. “Lee Jihoon owes me one.” 

“Care to explain?” Sicheng asked. He knew Lee Jihoon - who didn’t? The guy was a living legend.

“In due time, Sicheng. Once we’re in, I’ll work on the vault. Meanwhile, Dejun will tail the heir. He has a meeting at one of those posh hotels, Ten will explain it, but don’t shoot until we tell you. Then, once we’ve collected the money, I’ll donate it and that’s the end of that.”

“Kun. You’ve forgotten the most important thing.” Kun raised his eyebrows at Kunhang. “How?”

The door was forcefully pushed open, banging against the wall and deepening the dent caused by the doorknob. Ten’s front was covered by three heavy bags of what Dejun could only assume to be groceries, while Lucas trailed behind him, dragging in a suspicious looking black suitcase.

“Good, you’re here. Leave everything by the table and come sit.” Kun instructed, and the two nodded before joining them.

“Kunhang, Ten and Lucas have collected everything we need. Let them know if they’re missing some materials for your explosives, I’ll cover that. Dejun, I’m sure you’d rather use your own rifle, so I’ve left that to you. And Yangyang - will three screens be enough?”

“I sure hope so.”

“Right. Now, we discuss how.”

\---

The plan was one they’d done before: break in, wreck havoc, break out. But never at this scale, never at an organisation this big, never this reckless.

Yet, it was like every other plan, a cruel reminder that no matter how grand or big an organisation was, the roots were the same, profit-driven, pathetic excuses of human beings.Yangyang really had his work cut out for him. He needed to disable at least thirty six cameras, thankfully all connected to the same power outlet, and that too in sync with when the team would move. Why couldn’t he just disable them all for five minutes and be done with it? But no, Kun wanted to make it so clean the Koreans couldn’t figure anything out. 

He woke up early, three hours earlier than usual, and Kunhang tried to pull him down by habit.

“No, Kunnie,” He moved Kunhang’s hands from his waist and he grabbed onto him again. “Stop, I need to work.”

Kunhang muttered something incoherent and shifted closer to Yangyang, so that he was sleeping on his lap. 

“Kunhang.” 

“No.”

Yangyang shoved him off, pushing him onto Dejun, who shrugged away from the cold. He got out of bed before Kunhang could drag him back in. 

Three consecutive cups of coffee later, he mostly committed the map and timings to memory. It was a rectangle, with three concentric circles at the centre - the smallest one being where the vault was. The other two were security checkpoints, with motion and thermal sensors. What Yangyang had to do was switch off the cameras and sensors on time, while Jihoon would replace those gaps with the usual recordings immediately. He’d play old footage and report the old readings - even the Koreans didn’t trust Jihoon without a supervisor he needed to submit records to at the end of the day. 

Timings were simple. Kun had managed to obtain blueprints of the floor (probably from Jihoon, Yangyang wondered why the hacker was indebted to Kun) and then timed how long the for would take to walk each distance. The cameras and sensors needed to be in sync with the movements. 

Yangyang downed another gulp of his freshly-brewed coffee. His fourth cup today, and it was only eleven in the morning. The plan was already stressing him out. 

He’d sent an email to the organisation regarding health and safety issues, he’d even forged identities for the four and Yuta and Sicheng, now all they had to do was get in. Hopefully the guards won’t question it when they meet five young, attractive, Chinese men - and a Japanese one - apparently working for the government. Checking the kitchens wasn’t particularly scandalous or suspicious, so ideally, no one should tail them. Yuta and Sicheng would do some random checks, then leave saying everything was fine. 

They were all counting on the laziness of the guards to ensure that they didn’t notice six people going in and only two leaving.

Yangyang packed his laptop as Kunhang emerged, freshly showered. He pecked Yangyang on the cheek and then on the back of his hand, bidding him goodbye as he left for the HQ. He was meeting Yuta and Sicheng there, they’d left earlier in the morning because they didn’t seem to need sleep at all. He’d have to sneak in through the delivery van Yuta and Sicheng would bring later, after the four were in, claiming it to be food supplies. They’d have to knock out the usual delivery guy and steal the van, then empty some of the barrels so that there’s enough space for all of them, and the money. And, of course, get through the guards at the back entry. So many things to keep track of - how were they going to manage this?

He reached for the doorknob before realising he’d forgotten something. Yangyang turned back around, to his bedroom, and kissed a sleeping Dejun on the forehead. There. Now he could leave. 

\---

“We’re basically in the building then - the north stairwell leads to the basement.” Kun dragged his finger along the blueprint, landing on the staircase. “There will be locked doors, but no cameras. Take it off its hinges. The cameras will be at the end of the hallway. Remember that,Yangyang.”

Yangyang noted it down on a sheet of paper he took from Kun’s printer, with a pen he took from Taeil. He was very resourceful when needed. 

“We’ll walk down the hallway and to the next door. Kunhang, you’ll need to place the hinges back - but not too tight. We need to go out the same way. This door,” Kun’s finger traced a line down the length of the rectangle, to the edge. The security started there. “Is our way in. The thing about technology, people become so dependent they forget to trust themselves. No guards, only sensors. Yangyang-”

“Got it.”

“Thermal ones here. Also, trip wires. It’s outdated, but efficient. Continue walking…”

\---

Yangyang switched the cameras back on. He heaved a sigh - the four couldn’t be seen. The darkness of the room did nothing to ease his nerves, he needed more light to see the damn buttons, what if he pressed something wrong? 

“You really care about them, huh?” Lee Jihoon asked him, leaning against his console, in all his woke-up-this-way glory. His hair was tousled and dyed black, matching his round glasses and well, rest of his outfit. A creature of the night, Yangyang declared. He hadn’t expected anything less. 

He nodded in response, preparing for the next switch. The four were in, walking quickly down the halls and towards the vault. His timer counted down. They’d synced their watches too, to make sure they were working at the same time. 

Yangyang made the switch - again, he couldn’t see them. All was going well. 

“Must be nice, to have a crew. You have a boyfriend?”

The question was unexpected, but Jihoon must’ve known. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk, I’m just making conversation.”

“It’s alright, and I have two, actually.” He said. Then added, “How did you know?”

“Kun’s organisation. Nobody’s straight.” Yangyang felt there was more to that, more personal reasons to asking, but he didn’t question him.

“Are they both in there?” Jihoon tilted his head to the screen, where Yangyang had switched the camera again. No sign. 

“No, just one.” Yangyang wasn’t focusing on Jihoon, he didn’t see him pick up a knife, he didn’t feel it, not until it touched the back of his neck. He made the switch quicker than needed - the four weren’t visible, thank fuck - and threw the knife out of Jihoon’s grasp with a swish of his elbow. He grabbed it before it fell and aimed it at him. 

Jihoon backed away, his hands up in surrender. 

“Just checking your reflexes, kid. Chill,” He sat down at a chair at the back of the room. Yangyang turned back to the screen. He hadn’t missed the mark, not yet.

\---

“We’re at the checkpoint. It needs ID proof, I’ve got that, no need to worry. As soon as we go in, burn through the sensor. Make a hole in door if you want.”

Kunhang gave Kun a thumbs up. He could do this, just a another target to hit. Kun continued with his explaining as he pointed to the second circle on the blueprint.

“Retina scanner. There’s an override key - ask Jihoon.”

“Aren’t we trusting Jihoon too much?” Yangyang cut in. 

“Don’t worry, he really owes me. Right,” He brought everyone’s attention back to the blueprint. “We’re past the second checkpoint. We’re inside. I’ll open the vault. There are no cameras here, preventive measures. Once I’m in, we take it all.”

\---

As Kun worked on opening the vault, Kunhang set to work disabling the locks. He broke one apart and then burned through it with a blowtorch, then did the same to the other. Security was pretty lax in this place, he’d decided. They didn’t even check their apparent health inspection equipment, they just assumed a blowtorch was necessary. 

Kunhang expected them to have a few guards patrolling at least, but alas, they didn’t trust humans enough. Disadvantage on their part, if they trusted Jihoon. The lock gave away with a short click, as intended, and Kunhang took out his blowtorch to ruin it again. Such a shame, really, state of the art technology burnt and melted for a warning.

Or maybe, they weren’t expecting a group of boys in their early twenties with too much time on their hands to break in.

Kun knew how to crack a vault. The right spin in the right direction and the right sound from the metal - easy to learn but difficult to master. Kun never showed his weaknesses, but he never showed his strengths either. No one knew what he knew, so to keep him out they’d have to take every precaution ever, and the Koreans, well, they could have done better. Three reassuring clicks later, the vault sipped open. He removed the stethoscope and beckoned Lucas and Ten to help him with the door. It opened, and in the centre of it all, sat a man tied to a chair.

\---

“When we’re inside the vault, we’ll gather the cash as quickly as we can. Make it seven minutes before you cut the nearest camera, got it?”

Kun’s finger rested on the smallest circle drawn on the map, the bullseye, the spot marked X. Yangyang noted the timings, with the numbers he’d assigned to the cameras. Kun wanted to be so clean with this job - usually he’d want a rival to know it was him, but not this time. All data of them was to be erased. Surprisingly, the alarm system wasn’t triggered by the frequency of the cameras being switched on and off, again, an error on the planning of the building. 

Kun planned the whole scheme so elaborately, so concisely, Yangyang hoped nothing would go wrong. 

\---

Dejun was perched on the roof of a luxury hotel for the past hour. He entered the building next to it first, a music school for the rich people of town, who very obviously didn’t do bag checks at the front door. Still, he put his rifle in his guitar case. From there, he hopped to the roof of the hotel right opposite the one in which the heir was seated. He was waiting for him to leave, just step out, then he’d be done. 

A single shot. A single opportunity. 

Something didn’t sit right with him. 

\---

“Kun. What do we do? We have three minutes and forty four seconds,” Ten paced in the vault, the stacks of cash forgotten, along with the man tied to the chair. He didn’t try to move or speak, just stared at them blankly with noticeable disinterest. It bothered Kun.

“I’m ripping your gag off, don’t fucking scream or I’ll stab you, okay?” Kun nodded once at the man as he lifted a knife to his throat. He counted down from three as his eyes bored into the man’s, then pulled the cloth off. The man sat still. Kun’s knife fell to the floor, the clattering reverberating through the walls of the safe.

“Fuck. We need to stop Dejun, this is the heir.”

Lucas looked at him in disbelief then turned to the supposed heir, his mouth hanging more open when he recognised him. 

“What the fuck, bro?” He asked, very much not expecting this.

The man made a face at him, one a rich boy would make at a commoner begging at his feet. Spoilt brat.

“Untie me, and I’ll explain it to you.” Gosh, he even spoke like an entitled asshole. Lucas wasn’t having it. 

“Can I knock him out? Let’s take him as leverage.”

“We have no need for him, but I’m not taking the risk. Do so.”

Lucas gave the man a glare. He stood behind him, holding his dagger from the base.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, let me-”

The man’s head fell limp as Lucas drove the base down, hitting the side of his head and shutting him up. 

“Gather the money and zip him up in a body bag. We don’t have time.” 

Lucas untied the man from his chair - a nice chair, Lucas wanted to steal it - and dumped him in a bag they’d carried for cash. He was heavier than expected, and Lucas had to carry him out. How were they getting out anyway?

\---

“Dejun’s shooting will create distress for the organisation, so security will be preoccupied. We slip out through the back exit, Yuta and Sicheng will be waiting for us,” He stopped to raise his eyebrows at the two, as if asking permission. They nodded.

“We’ll hide in the empty barrels and leave.”

\---

Except now, security won’t be preoccupied, and they’d most probably get caught.

Who the fuck was Dejun going to shoot?

Ten kept murmuring apologies to Kun as he filled up the bags, after all, he was the one who gathered all their information. Kun shook his head - how was Ten supposed to know? According to the bugs Ten had placed in the secretary’s room, the heir should be having lunch with Chinese investors - means this was done in secret. And why? Ten didn’t have to think about it now.

The vault emptied into their bags, and damn, was cash heavy. They’d taken longer than needed, seven minutes and twelve seconds, Ten hoped Yangyang would telepathically sense the delay and buy them some extra time. Or maybe they could run very fast. The latter seemed ideal.

So run they did, Lucas dragging a body bag behind him, Kunhang and Ten carrying three bags each, and Kun with five. How he had the strength or ability, Ten did not know, but it’s Kun. He’s full of surprises.

They exited the same way they got in, Kunhang adjusted the hinges back onto the door like it was earlier. No one would know anything happened, not unless they checked the basement. The footage would show nothing, the sensors would show nothing, they would have no evidence.

They met Yuta and Sicheng at the back door, the van very obviously parked right in front of the camera. Jihoon was handling the cameras now, they’d have to trust him to keep them covered from here. Ten was itching to ask Kun what he knew about Jihoon which was so scandalous that he’d help them, but Kun shut him down the first time so he didn’t try again. It was strange - and the heir, why the fuck would they keep him locked in a vault?

Ten fitted the cash into a barrel. Everything worked out. Now, where was Yangyang? He was supposed to get here before them.

\---

“Your timer’s going to run out. Put the knife down.” 

Jihoon stood behind him, leaning over his shoulder and it made Yangyang uncomfortable. He hadn’t put down the knife since Jihoon attacked him and he wasn’t planning to - he knew he couldn’t trust him.

He was right. When he loosened his grip on the dagger, Jihoon’s hands wrapped around his neck in a threatening grip, tight, but not enough to kill him, enough to make him talk.

“You tell me everything about Kun’s dirty deeds right now, or you’re dead along with your crew,” He leaned close to Yangyang’s ear, holding the knife that slipped from Yangyang’s hands when Jihoon strangled him.

“Listen to me, carefully,” Yangyang started, glaring into his eyes and holding his hands up to show Jihoon he wasn’t a threat. “I’ll tell you everything. Just loosen your grip a bit.”

Evidently, Jihoon wasn’t very experienced in the physical part of being a criminal, so he applied less pressure to Yangyang’s neck. Yangyang took the opportunity to kick his knee up, hitting Jihoon in an unfavorable place, and his hands immediately fell from Yangyang’s neck as he let out a grunt of pain. Yangyang switched the camera - fuck, he was late. He hoped they took some extra seconds.

Jihoon was on the floor, pathetically sprawled. Yangyang kicked his chest, then put his foot down on it. “Are you listening?”

Jihoon nodded.

“I’m no fucking traitor. You do your job and get your pay, don’t ask me shit that could get you killed,” He pressed his foot down harder. Jihoon tried to pry his leg off, but Yangyang held him down by his hair. 

“I’m letting you go. I won’t tell Kun, as long as you cover for us completely. Got it?”

Jihoon muttered a ‘yes’ as he coughed. Yangyang went back to the screens. Almost done, one more camera. 

He needed to leave.

\---

Dejun aimed. Finally, the heir was leaving the building. The guy took two hours for coffee - he needed to work on his time management, he could never run an organisation at this rate.

Two bodyguards trailed after him. They checked the surroundings as they walked, not once looking up. He focused his lens. Just one shot, at the feet, just one bullet.

Except. 

This wasn’t the heir. He knew something was wrong. 

In haste, he shot the bodyguards instead. Two bullets, then. They’d suffer foot injuries but they’d live. Dejun needed to move. 

Before they spotted him, he jumped back to the building of the music institute. Down the elevator, then he’d wait for their van. He stalled at the reception for an extra five minutes in case the bodyguards thought his departure from the building was too well timed. 

What were they going to do anyway? They couldn’t walk properly. He scoffed to himself and the receptionist gave him a weird look. Whatever. He’d done his part, he hoped the others had done theirs.

\---

Sicheng was getting impatient. Where was Yangyang? He was forty seconds late, and his part wasn’t even done yet - he still needed to hack them. Now they’d be late in collecting Dejun too. What was taking him so long?

“So, uh,” Ten cleared his throat and Sicheng glared at him. “What did you guys do?”

“Nothing,” Yuta replied, too quickly. He turned away from Ten to look out the window instead.

“Well, the marks on your neck don’t look like nothing, Yuta.”

“Shut up, Ten. You’re just jealous.”

Sicheng high-fived him.

“You didn’t have to come for me like that, Yuta. I’m not talking to you anymore,” Ten forcefully shut the window that connected the front seat to the back of the van. He was one for dramatics. 

They heard a muffled ‘I’m going to kill that kid once he shows up’ before the door slammed open.

“Yangyang. Where the fu-”

“Shut up, Ten. Just drive, don’t ask.”

His shirt was torn and he had bruises on his face, but Ten held his tongue. He knocked on the window once, prompting Sicheng to drive, and he revved the engine. Time to go.

Yangyang removed the lid of a barrel before getting in. The guards shouldn’t stop to check, they’d checked them on their way in. But today, they were feeling particularly determined to do their jobs, so they stopped Sicheng before he could leave. The door opened and sunshine streamed into the van. All the guard had to do was lift one lid, and they’d be caught.

He reached for Yangyang’s. 

Fuck.

Either the universe was being suspiciously kind to him or Jihoon actually listened to his threats, but the guard received a message on his walkie-talkie type device and he didn’t bother to close the door of the van before running off to his senior who had apparently called for him.

Good. Jihoon was doing his job. That second mini brawl he had with him was worth it.

Yuta cursed at the guard and jumped out to close the door, not before shooting Yangyang’s barrel a smile. He’d look like an idiot to anyone else.

Once they were on the road and Yuta deemed it safe enough, Yangyang lifted his lid. They were nearing where they had to pick Dejun up from, which meant it was time to hack.

Kun and the others gathered around another barrel and opened it, letting the bag hit the ground with an alarmingly loud thud. Had they found gold, too?

Said bag groaned and shifted to a sitting position. Yangyang screamed. Kun shushed him.

“It’s the heir,” He said, then unzipped the bag.

“Where the fuck am I?” He asked, and he was indeed the heir. So who did Dejun shoot?

Kunhang came to sit next to him as the heir argued with Kun and Lucas, and Ten sulked in a corner. He probably wanted an ice cream or something.

“Why are you hurt?”

“Fought with Jihoon,” He shifted to rest his head on Kunhang’s shoulder.

“Like, physical fight?” Kunhang held his palm up. Yangyang slotted his fingers through his.

“What do you think? He beat me up after he lost a videogame?”

“Fair point. Did he threaten you?”

“No, I threatened him. He fought back.”

Kunhang sighed. “I’m sure you had your reasons. Now, we wait for Dejun. Let’s get dinner tomorrow. Somewhere fancy?”

“Sounds good.”

\---

“Lo and behold, it is I, Xiao Dejun, and I shot some random guards instead of the heir. How was your mission?”

Dejun knew how to make an entrance. He didn’t know how to keep quiet, though.

“You were supposed to shoot me? Thank god Father locked me up in that hellhole.”

Dejun did not recognise that voice, but before he could comment on it Yangyang pulled the door of the van shut and pushed him down to the floor.

At his annoyed look, he said, “People are staring.”

He rolled his eyes and went to sit next to Kunhang, who kissed his forehead.

“Who’s this guy?” The strange man asked, tilting his head at Dejun.

“No one of importance to you. We’ll discuss it later. Yangyang?”

He nodded at Kun. “Finish this.”

\---

The weather was lovely - not too hot, not too cold, the spring breeze accentuated the pleasant sunshine and balanced the humidity. Kunhang would call it a good day, and it was, if not for the whiny heir seated at Kun’s dining table.

Yangyang had corrupted their files and probably set off a few warnings, but all was well since they didn’t know about the money yet. Kun had stopped at multiple shelters on their way back and just handed the money to the people - they didn’t question him, he was a frequent face. How the organisation would be devastated to find out their money went to children in need.

Yangyang said it was a reason to celebrate, so they drove back to Kun’s place and opened a bottle of champagne and toasted to their successful mission. Later, Kun would explain to them how flawed the plan really was, too many variables; but for now, Kunhang was happy with his boyfriends arguing over their drinking capabilities and the open sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((i know the ending isn't good enough sorry)) oh man,, i cannot believe i wrote 90% of this during my exams,, but it's over. I'm going to miss writing this!! I really enjoyed myself. Thank you all for your comments and kudos, they make my day and I can't stop smiling you guys have no idea,, thank you all for reading this. If any of you wanna talk I made a [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/kidfromthering) and a [ tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/girlfromthering)!!!


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